


Run To You

by Emela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anchors, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Feral Derek, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Rimming, Scared Derek, Slight Kate Argent Pain, Soul Bond, Trust Issues, Voyeurism, Wolf Derek, derek is in love with stiles, no bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/pseuds/Emela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A witch casts a spell, turning Derek feral and leaving him the equivalent of a frightened puppy. Stiles is the only one he trusts to protect him and of course, Stiles is only too happy to help. (Which has <em>nothing</em> to do with all these feelings he's suddenly having, okay? Derek's just a really cute werewolf puppy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Kristi who told me there isn't enough feral Derek fics out there and I quite agree. This is the result. I hope you enjoy!

The strobe of light hit Derek square in the chest before Stiles could scream at him to move out of the way.

The stupid idiot. Didn't he have _any_ self-preservation skills? Apparently not, given the way he had just _hurled_ himself in front of Scott, without even the slightest bit of hesitation. Stiles had seen it one too many times, that stupidity. He had come to call it the ‘Derek Hale Stupidly Heroic Reaction Action’. Stiles would be the first to admit he and Derek didn't exactly see eye to eye, that friendship still wasn't quite on the table for them. He didn't care, _shouldn't_ care, but even so, Stiles thought the dude deserved a break. A long one, preferably on a beach somewhere. That was, if Derek even liked beaches. Stiles didn't like beaches but that was only because he didn't like taking his shirt off in public. That, and it has been his mom's favourite place. 

Stiles didn’t know why Derek persisted to protect Scott. Scott was, and probably never would be, Derek's biggest fan and as the True Alpha, he could protect himself. Stiles would give his life for Scott, Scott was his brother and he knew - hoped - Scott would do the same for him. 

Scott wouldn’t have jumped in front of Derek. It wasn't an observation, it was a fact. Cold and hard and it made something unpleasant twist in Stiles' gut. Derek was always going to be on the bottom of Scott's priority list, if he was even on it at all. Stiles loved his best friend but by now, he found it odd Scott couldn't at least show Derek _some_ respect. Derek had earned it, many times over. The truth of the matter was, it wasn't Derek who needed to earnrespect, in Stiles' opinion - he and Scott had been the ones to dig up Derek's dead sister, after all. Sure, Derek had made bad decisions in the past - who hasn't? Stiles didn't think that meant Derek deserved to be could shouldered, especially considering how nice Derek's shoulders-

Something must have gone down between Scott and Derek.

Something neither of them have told him, but still. Just because he wasn’t an Alpha anymore, it didn’t mean Derek had stopped acting like one. He still cared for the pack (in his own surly way), provided for them- buying the way more expensive tub of peanut butter when he found out Isaac and Allison _slightly_ preferred it to the one he usually bought- if that wasn't affection, Stiles didn't know what was- and Scott…Scott went on dates with Kira.

Don’t get him wrong, Stiles thought Kira was awesome with a capital A. In his opinion, Kira was even worth blowing off important pack duties for. Most of all because now when Stiles called Scott with the news he was _about to_ _die-_  which happened way more often than he was comfortable with-Kira was always the one to pick up Scott’s phone. No sir, as long as Kira was in this pack, there would be no more Kanima pool incidents in which Scott chose family dinners and making out with hot, rosy cheeked girls- no offense Allison- over taking the time to listen to his best friend telling he was about to meet his maker, or whatever it was that happened when you died.

Stiles personally liked to think dying would ultimately conclude with him taking on his destined role as Batman- except in a t-shirt and jeans because the Batman suit looked _insanely_ warm- saving the skies from the wrath of Zeus and, on quieter days, hanging out with beautiful water nymphs.

Stiles really should stop reading so many DC and Percy Jackson crossovers online.

Then again, at least his dreams of dying weren't those werewolf knotting fantasies he had come across when he was researching werewolf mating habits. For science. Fantasies which he had _definitely not_ bookmarked to read again later.

So, yeah, back to the point. Kira was awesome for getting Scott to listen to him these days. But, no, that wasn't the point. The point was Derek. Derek who was currently convulsing on the Preserve floor- something he also wished that happened less regularly- while fucking blue haired, blue eyed, blue _skinned_  bitch face over here- Stiles totally didn’t think her Avatar look was hot anymore- stood laughing about it. 

“You expose my secret”- and by that, bitch face meant the fact that Derek had told her witchy coven, or whoever she hung out with, that she had been _killing and eating children for fun,_ which apparently, thank god, was a strict  no-no section of the witch handbook _-_ “then I’m going to expose yours.” Her grin turned downright twisted as she said it, directed at Derek- and Stiles wondered just what the hell _that_ meant.

Felt sick over the thought of anything to do with  _secrets_ coming out. 

Derek was an extremely private guy. Stiles still wasn't convinced he had meant to tell him about Kate that summer when they had hung out almost every day when Scott was doing his whole “I’m going to be an awesome student” reinvention thing. It had just sort of slipped out one day when Stiles had stumbled across an old box of Laura’s things after he had convinced Derek to renovate his house so it would actually be inhabitable. He remembered the look on Derek’s face after he had told him, like he had wanted the ground to swallow him up and never spit him back out.

Stiles also knew that, on some level, Derek had told Stiles what he had because there had been trust already brewing there, even if neither one of them had been prepared to recognise it at the time. Or now even. It was kind of a nice feeling actually. Being (at least partially) trusted by Derek Hale.

Whatever secret was about to slip, Stiles couldn’t stand the thought of it being forced out of Derek in front of the pack. The werewolf _did_ trust him, even if he didn’t like him, and Stiles thought Derek had even come to love Isaac, to care for him like a brother, but the rest of the pack? Stiles knew Derek had a long way to go before he even contemplated giving them his trust, even with the little things, like telling them his favourite brand of cereal. ( _Froot Loops_ , Stiles’ brain smugly supplied, making his stomach warm unexpectedly.)

Stiles watched with bated breath, along with the rest of the pack, as they waited for something to happen, none of them knowing what to do as Derek continued to writhe. It took a moment for Stiles to realise Derek’s body wasn’t just shaking, however, it was _shifting-_ not into his beta form, but into a fully-fledged, feral wolf, complete with fur, claws and very, very sharp canines, before springing up and letting out the most painful howl Stiles had ever heard.

Stiles didn’t know if Derek was even still in there, or if the animal that had previously been inside had completely taken over. He looked scared, though and it made Stiles want to punch something. He briefly wondered if punching Derek would force the shift back. It usually worked when the dude was unconscious, but Stiles knew if he should be attempting to punch anyone right now, it should be _her._

Isaac started to approach Derek immediately, as if on instinct. The only member of the pack that still responded to Derek as though he was still an Alpha. (Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t count since he was neither a werewolf, nor had he responded to Derek as an Alpha when he had been one. He was just…Derek to him. Leather jacket, stubbly jaw, expressive eyebrows. Derek.)

“Derek?” Isaac asked tentatively, reaching out a hand, but Derek immediately shied away from it, as though Isaac’s hand was made of fire. (Stiles didn’t even want to think about the connotations of that.)

The witch laughed.

“I haven’t taken away his memories,” she eventually spoke, her tone dripping with the kind of glee no-one wanted to hear from a, for lack of a better word, villain. “He still knows who you all are, relatively speaking.” She gave everyone a sickening once over that made Stiles’ stomach knot, before turning to eye Derek and continued to speak, talking at him but not addressing him.

“He can also understand you perfectly well, nothing’s changed, but he’ll be scared. I’ve taken away his ability to logically distinguish between what will hurt him and what won’t, so don’t be offended if he bites. It’s my speciality, you know. It’s how I got those sweet, little darlings to run screaming from the safety of their bedrooms. Of course, Derek’s a big boy, he won’t run but…well, you can see the results.” She waved a hand towards the former Alpha, Beta eyes glowing the brightest blue as everyone turned to look at him.

Stiles resisted the unanticipated, sudden urge to throw himself between Derek and everyone else there. He was looking around wildly now, eyes settling on each face that surrounded him as though he was trying to make sense of what he found there but was failing; as though he had nothing in the world to defend himself with and no-one was offering him anything of use. He looked behind him once or twice, but it seemed he decided he had nowhere to run either. Nowhere to hide. He was, as far as Stiles could see, trapped in his own head.

“It’s an interesting experiment, really,” the witch went on, tilting her head to the side. “Seeing how he will react when reduced so low.”

“You have no right to do this!” Lydia, surprisingly, yelled out, knocking aside whatever words of his own Stiles had been about to angrily spew forth. Her hands were clenched, turning her knuckles white; her eyes widening in that scary way everyone in the pack, including Peter- even if he hadn’t been seen for months now-, at least slightly cowered from.

Stiles would never have had expected Lydia to feel so strongly about Derek, to be this outraged on his behalf, but as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her cheeks were beginning to flush slightly below her perfectly applied make-up, he realised her reaction wasn’t about Derek at all. Only about what had been done to him.

Out of everyone, Lydia was probably the only person, aside from Derek, who had an intimate relationship with protective emotional barriers. The only other one afraid to let people in, refusing to be helped. Stiles had watched for years as the girl he would always be slightly in love with, even only as a friend now, determinedly masked herself behind them, playing herself down beyond recognition; lying about what she really was. Smart. Incredible. Anything but just a pretty face. Christ, she had made a self-igniting Molotov cocktail! Well, she would have if Jackson hadn’t been a douche and deliberately mucked it up. Really, she was far better off without him.

Lydia had struggled on her own for so long and now that she was a banshee, Stiles could still see that she still had to, most of the time. She was on her own with her supernatural gift, even if she did have the support of the pack. Stiles knew the prospect of losing every protective defence she had ever managed to build up was something more than terrifying to Lydia. Those fears, Stiles saw, were playing out in front of her very eyes in Derek right now.

He had to admire the fact that she was even still standing here, fighting this, when the witch could easily do the same thing to her if she was provoked.

“Actually, I have every right,” the witch replied casually. “There are no laws that exist between witches and werewolves. I can do what I want, and I choose to humiliate him. Are you ready, Derek?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids and turning back to look at him again. Derek actually whimpered.

“What else could you possibly do to him?” Stiles found himself yelling this time, earning him a surprised look from not only the witch, but Derek too.

It was only then did Stiles notice the absence of Derek’s murky green eyes, the ones he hid behind so well; replaced now by large, black orbs that were reflecting every terrible emotion Derek never let anyone else see.

“Oh, sweetie, there is so much I could do to him,” she replied, actually _winking_ as the words left her lips. “But today, I’m going to make him afraid. I’m going to make him into the equivalent of a little boy who believes the Boogie man has just come out to play, promising him every kind of nightmare and letting it loom over him like a black cloud.”

Stiles knew if he managed to kill this bitch- or better yet, if _Derek_ managed to kill her- he’d take the time to appreciate the poetic tinge of her threats later.

Except, this wasn’t a threat.

As she clicked her fingers on the last word, an awful howl erupted from Derek, painful to even his non-werewolf-sensitive ears, before immediately sinking to the ground, lying down and sticking his head between shaking arms- or paws, for that matter.

Stiles had been in life or death situations with Derek before. He’d seen him paralysed, vulnerable, shot and bleeding, but never, _never_ had he seen Derek scared.

Derek-Sourwolf- Hale. To say it was “disconcerting” that that name didn’t fit anymore would be an understatement. It was terrifying, and Stiles felt utterly useless.

“It will wear off when you figure out how to fix it,” the witch told them cryptically, before disappearing in an actual cloud of hazy-grey smoke. Who even _did_ that? Stiles thought it was awfully cliché of her.

“Yeah, you better stay away,” he called lamely after her. He knew it was pointless, but he had never been good at remaining silent, especially in times like these, when doing something was crucial but all there was was a big fucking, obnoxious question mark hanging above him tauntingly.

The memories of the nightmares after he, Scott and Allison had “died” in those icy bath tubs were still all too vivid in his mind as he tried to get a grip on what to do. He still remembered the fear that would wash over him when faced with sleep, when he relinquished his conscious control; a fear that even his dad hadn’t been able to quell as he had held him in his arms every night.

If that was anything like what Derek was feeling now…

Everyone moved in hesitantly, making an unspoken circle around Derek, careful not to get close enough to spook or suffocate him.

“We have to get him home,” Isaac stated, worry etched into every part of his face. “He’ll be better at home.” Stiles didn’t even know what Derek thought of as home anymore. Sure, they had made the old Hale house less creepy, had given it a paint job and some insulation, but that hadn’t prevented Derek from moving out and into the loft. Stiles struggled to hazard a guess which Derek would need more right now. Somewhere full of painful memories, or somewhere devoid of them?

“Derek, we’re going to take you home now, okay?” Isaac tried to soothe. Stiles wanted to ask just _where_ he meant by home- simultaneously wondering why he cared so much they got this right- but since Isaac lived at the loft with Derek, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that’s where he meant. Home didn’t mean much to Derek, Stiles knew that without Derek ever having had to tell him, but to Isaac? The loft was probably everything a home should be. At least in comparison to the home life he had led before. It was safe in the loft. Derek kept him safe.

He bit his tongue as Isaac approached the feral wolf again, a sort of pleading hope in his eyes that tore at Stiles’ gut because Isaac _needed_ Derek, he looked up to him and had a protector in him, but as before, Derek flinched away from the curly-haired boy, hiding his face, clearly not understanding he meant no harm.

Isaac didn’t try again, taking a few paces back until he was a little further outside the circle than necessary. Stiles hoped to catch his eye and give him a reassuring smile, something that said _you tried, it will be okay,_ but the young beta didn’t look up.

Kira immediately tried next, wasting no time; sitting down on the ground so she was at eye-level with Derek, but not as near him as Isaac had been. Derek looked up at her cautiously but didn’t raise his head.

“Hey,” she said, her tone gentle and even and, for a moment, Stiles thought she had actually managed to win Derek over. He didn’t tense any further, nor did he back away. Stiles wasn’t really surprised because, after all, who wouldn’t feel comfortable with Kira? She was sweetness personified- even when she wielded a sword, which was all kinds of unhinged, badass cool in Stiles’ opinion- but after a second, Derek actually growled at her.

His response made Scott tense at once, provoking him into an aggressive kind of motion as he moved to stand in front of Kira, hands flying out, as though to protect her.

Stiles wanted to yell at him. In fact, he _would_ yell at him. Later. Couldn’t Scott see Derek was in no position to be at all threatening here? That any kind of sudden movement was probably the worst course of action any of them could possibly take right now? Furthermore, since when did Kira need protection? Not that he would ever say to Scott, being bros and all, but he was pretty certain Kira would have a better chance at saving Scott in a fight than vice versa. The girl had serious moves- (which she also knew when _not_ to use, thank you very much.)

“He’s scared,” Stiles hissed at him instead, earning at least a somewhat sheepish look from Scott. “You have no idea what’s going through his head. This is no time to be defensive.”

“Sorry,” Scott mumbled, standing back and Stiles visibly noticed some of the tension leaving Derek’s body. Poor guy, he really did look like an abused puppy; an extremely large puppy, but a puppy all the same.

Lydia and Erica tried next, but to no avail. Alison and Boyd had no luck either, and so, that just left Stiles.

Stiles was under no illusion Derek was going to respond positively to anything he had to offer. He knew he was pack, but Derek still continued to back him into corners, threatening to rip his throat out (always with his teeth) on every other occasion. Just because Stiles didn’t feel the need to wet his pants when that happened anymore didn’t mean there was any real fondness between them. They were just thrown together in dangerous situations more often than not. That was all. Forced bonding.

So what if Stiles had let himself hope their summer together would have provided a decent platform for friendship? Derek Hale did not like Stiles. Fact. He would even go so far as to sit uncomfortably on the floor instead of on the remaining seat beside Stiles on the couch during pack movie nights.

At first Stiles had thought it was because Derek had been uneasy about the Kate thing, but after a while he realised it was just him. Stiles knew that most people, actually, that _everyone,_ found him annoying to some degree, including Derek but, thankfully, excluding Scott. Scott, at least, would always love him for his motor running mouth.

“Okay, big guy,” he sighed, crouching down like Kira had done. “I know you’re frightened and that’s okay, but I think you know staying out here isn’t going to help that.” Stiles was relieved to see Derek understood by the way his ears twitched, even if the way his eyes assessed him was a little unnerving, like Derek was reading the words on Stiles’ skin rather than hearing them.

He waited several moments, pacing himself because, so far, so good, and when Derek made no attempt to rebuff him, Stiles felt his heart quicken. This might actually work! Stiles had no idea why Derek was staying silent for him when he had made his feelings perfectly clear about the others, but Stiles wasn’t one to question a good thing. (Well, he wasn’t going to be that person _today_ anyway.)

Carefully raising himself up to stand on his feet, Stiles decided to test his luck further.

“Follow me?” he asked on a whisper, bringing his arms up to indicate around him. He could have been motioning anywhere, but that was the point. He wanted Derek to feel like he had a choice. He didn’t want to tell him where to feel safe. “Where do you want to go?”

Slowly- but faster that Stiles had hoped for at this point- Derek brought himself to stand at full height, looking nervously around at the rest of the pack before walking over to Stiles and nosing, almost affectionately, at his jeans. Stiles wanted to pet him, but refrained in case the contact scared Derek off. (Not to mention, Derek probably really would rip Stiles’ throat out when he returned to his human form.)

He tried to imagine what it would be like to run his fingers through human Derek’s hair, because, human or wolf, it wouldn’t feel any different to Derek- it would still be _petting._ He thought the image would make him uncomfortable- laugh even- letting him see the action from Derek’s viewpoint, of how weird and unwelcome it would be. Unfortunately, all it did was scare him, because suddenly he found some small part of himself longing for Derek to shift back just so he could run his fingers through his hair. He wondered if it was soft. (Where the fuck were these thoughts even _coming from?)_

Derek nosed at him again, reminding him they were in the middle of progress here and not some other emotional crisis that Stiles was definitely not going to obsess over later.

Stiles frowned at first, not understanding and looked up at Lydia, figuring she might have an answer, but all he got was a perplexed look in return.

In fact, they were all were giving him that look, as though Derek choosing to not bite Stiles’ head off was the real cause for concern here and not the fact he was currently feral, terrified and, oh yeah, even _more_ untrusting of people than he had been in the first place.

“What is it?” he asked Derek, ignoring the looks still coming from the pack.

Derek, in response, endeavoured to bury his face in Stiles’ pocket until he felt something sharp move, resulting in it digging into his leg through the material.

His house keys.

“You want to go home with me?” he asked incredulously, (and totally not in a squeaky way).

“Dude…” Scott started to say, but Stiles cut him off with a look, careful not to move. He was not going to let Scott fuck this up. Derek was already starting to tense up at the sound of the Alpha’s voice, and yeah, Stiles was so going to kill him because he did not need to add “chasing a feral werewolf through the woods” to his list of things to do tonight.

To his surprise, however, Derek only stepped closer to Stiles as a result, turning his face so it was hidden behind Stiles’ leg.

“Don’t,” he ordered when Scott, _even after everything he had said,_ made a move to come towards him. Even Kira was giving him a look of despair. “If he wants to come with me”- for whatever reason- “then he’s coming with me.”

Stiles was going to roll with anything and everything he thought would make Derek comfortable tonight- well, short of pissing on him. Not that he thought Derek would do that anyway, even if he was an actual dog right now and the territory thing might help; not that Stiles was Derek’s territory, not that he _belonged_ to him, and fuck, he just needed to stop thinking _right now._

They weren’t friends but Derek was trusting him, sort of, with this and Stiles would be damned if he let anything screw that up. Especially himself. The sooner Derek was back to normal, the better. Stiles was also certain (see: hoping) these stupid, protective-y feelings he was starting to have would dissipate as soon as Derek was finally able to tell him to “shut up” again in person.

***

Not surprisingly, Derek was not up for anyone following him and Stiles home.

“I’ll be fine, Scott,” he spoke into his phone, Derek lying in the back seat of his jeep. He was trembling again but Stiles thought he looked better for being away from the rest of the pack. It pained him that Derek didn’t remember it was okay to trust them. That they would keep him safe.

Then he remembered how Derek had jumped in front of Scott and Stiles suddenly wondered if _any_ of the pack would risk their life for Derek.

Isaac would.

Why _hadn’t_ Derek gone with Isaac? He was the much more obvious choice. Stiles only had his sarcasm and a very choice few movie-learned martial arts moves to protect Derek with. Wasn’t Isaac at least the safer choice? Hello, werewolf strength!

(Stiles resolutely ignored the fact that part of him- and it was only a small part, okay? - was secretly pleased Derek had chosen him over the others, even if he couldn’t fathom why.)

“I think it would be better if I came round anyway. He could hurt you.” Scott, bless and curse him, sounded like he thought that was a genuine possibility.

Stiles knew that Derek didn’t have it in him to hurt so much as a fly right now, not unless he felt extremely threatened and Stiles had no intentions of provoking Derek any time soon. Their usual exchange of heated sarcasm could wait until the werewolf was back to his usual self.

 _His usual_ broken _self,_ a voice reminded Stiles, drawing his eyes to the rear-view mirror where he could see Derek clearly.

He hoped there was someone out there for Derek, someone who would one day help repair and restore him. He had always wanted that for Derek, he realised. Ever since that summer. He wanted the guy to be happy, but it was only now he was noticing how much he actually _cared_ about Derek’s impending happiness and not just wanting him to be less grumpy all the time.

That hadn’t just happened tonight, he knew. Stiles pretended to hate Derek but he hadn’t for a long time now. He really did want him to be happy and suddenly, all those jokes Stiles had aimed at him about needing to get laid sat very uncomfortably with him. Derek would never be the type to sleep around- not after Kate - and serious relationships would actually require him opening up to somebody.

Stiles made a vow to work on Derek’s trust issues just as soon as they figured out how to fix this. That body, at the very least, should be appreciated by someone who could openly tell Derek just how lovely it was. (Shut up. Stiles was allowed to objectively notice how hot Derek was, okay? It wasn’t a secret the guy had some serious abs on him.)

“I’ll call you if I need you,” Stiles said, repressing a sigh. “Seriously, I appreciate the concern but it would be more useful if you’d direct some of it at Derek.” Stiles heard Scott quietly huff on the other end of the line.

“Oh my god, what’s your problem?” he surprised himself by yelling, wincing when he heard the sound of Derek trying to retreat back into the seat he was curled up on and whining when he couldn’t.

“Sorry, big guy,” he whispered, reaching a hand back to try and placate him, shocked and relieved to feel the wet nuzzle of Derek’s nose against his skin just as he went to retract it.

“It’s okay,” Scott replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you! _You_ are being an asshole.” Stiles really didn’t understand why was feeling so angry about all of this. Wasn’t he the one who had once asked Scott to just let Derek die? (Not that he had actually meant it, but still.) “That could have been you. Derek saved you and I bet you aren’t even going to thank him, are you.” It wasn’t a question and Stiles knew Scott knew that.

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles mumbled when he didn’t answer. “Don’t bother us until I call you. In the meantime, talk to Deaton.” He very rarely hung up on Scott, if ever, but the satisfaction Stiles got from punching that end call button settled over him like a warm blanket on a cold morning.

“We’re almost there,” Stiles told Derek, chancing another quick look back at him.

He still looked frightened, like the car itself was a source of terror of him, but he was also looking at Stiles questioningly, like he was a distraction. Stiles wondered what he was thinking.

The one thing Derek had probably had in his favour all of these years was that he had nothing _left_ to fear. He had lost his whole family. Everyone he had ever loved. What else was there when you were a werewolf? When sickness was impossible and death wasn’t just an accident away.

Perhaps it wasn’t about fearing something though, he mused, relief flooding through him at the sight of his house up ahead. Maybe it was nothing more than a feeling. Somehow, that just made this whole situation worse to Stiles. Fear without knowing how to squash it; fearing fear. Having no clue what you were actually scared of. It wasn’t like Derek could just turn on a light and all the bad dreams would be chased away. This wasn’t going to be easily fixable.

The worst part was knowing Derek never let anyone in. Perhaps he never would again. There was no-one Derek trusted enough to hold him when things got too much and whatever fears Derek had, Stiles knew he had to have some- even if they were just nightmares from the past-, he probably always chased away himself. Stiles had no idea how he was going to help someone who had only ever known how to help himself _through_ himself and even at that, Derek hadn’t been doing a very good job of taking care of himself. At least Stiles thought so. How did you help a lone wolf?

When Stiles parked the jeep, he was glad to see the absence of his dad’s car. He had been called away to consult on a case this morning similar to one he had solved last year. He was supposed to be gone for several days, with Melissa checking in on him every night. At least, thank god, Melissa knew about the existence of werewolves now. She would most likely leave him and Derek alone once Scott, or Deaton- yeah, Stiles was definitely demanding Deaton- explained the importance of the situation to her.

Jumping from the car, he tried to remain as calm and collected as possible as he opened the back door, motioning for Derek to jump out too.

The werewolf hesitated only briefly before following Stiles inside the house, keeping close to him the whole time. Stiles nearly tripped over Derek’s legs as they reached the kitchen, he was so close.

“Hey,” Stiles cooed, bending down and holding his hand out to Derek, who pressed his head into it immediately. Stiles, finally, he thought, let his fingers close over the fur that was there, scratching lightly, eliciting a deep vibration of what _sounded_ like pleasure from the werewolf. He stopped shaking with the contact, Stiles noticed, and suddenly he found Derek working his way into his arms and placing his head on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles felt something inside him fucking break. Derek Hale just broke him. Through a _hug._ As a big, giant puppy _._

This is special, he thought. A privilege no-one else has ever gotten, and even though Derek wasn’t in his right mind, even though he had been forced to find this comfort, Stiles couldn’t help but feel happy, even honoured, that it was him this privilege had been given to.

“Come on, Sourwolf,” he spoke the familiar nickname into the top of Derek’s head, meaning to guide him upstairs but instead just tightening his arms around him until they were caught up in a semi-embrace.

He didn’t want to think about how much he didn’t want to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than I wanted for the second chapter, but I was in such a mood to write more of this today and this is what happened. I hope you like it.

Stiles awoke to find Derek staring at him.

It had taken a lot of coaxing last night to convince Derek that, no, the stairs were not going to harm him. The poor guy had treated each step like it was about to come alive and suck him into hell, or something. Stiles hadn’t been sure since Derek couldn’t use his words. Not that human Derek did a lot of that anyway. Actually, wolf Derek wasn’t that much different from human Derek really. Well, aside from the fact that wolf Derek seemed to actually _like_ Stiles.

Stiles had had to practically walk him like a toddler up to his bedroom before they had both collapsed on a heap on his bed.

Well, Stiles had collapsed. Derek had tried to settle on various different positions on the floor first before Stiles had sighed and petted his pillow, indicating for him to come and sleep beside him.

“I’ll watch over you,” he promised.

It surprised Stiles at how fast Derek had, yeah, there really was no other word for it, _scrambled,_ up next to him. It only took a moment for Derek to place his head on Stiles’ pillow and sigh, like he had come home or something, which was just _unfair,_ okay? Stiles did not need to start having visions of Derek treating his bed like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be.

“What is it, big guy?” Stiles asked when Derek just continued to stare. His eyes were wide, almost imploring and Stiles just wanted to _hug_. No, he thought, as Derek not-so-subtly- shifted closer to him. He wanted to _cuddle_.

Stiles liked cuddling and since his mom died, there had been no-one around- or frankly, willing- to do that with him. His dad had only ever held him for so long after she passed away, holding him then- and now- only when he thought Stiles truly needed it. Stiles always appreciated his dad’s attempts at comforting him, but holding and hugging weren’t the same as cuddling _._

Hugs were something shared every day, even between people who didn’t care or know all that much about each other. Hell, Stiles had even hugged Jackson when he had left for London. Cuddling, on the other hand, cuddling was, fuck, it was special.

When him mom used to take her favourite blanket and an old movie, scooping Stiles up in her arms and hunkering down on the couch, it was only then Stiles had felt truly and completely loved. Like he was the most cherished prize in the world. There had never been room for loneliness when his mom had cuddled him, laughing at whatever someone said on the television and kissing his temple after. Whether Stiles wanted to admit it to himself or not, he had been lonely ever since he had lost that.

Even when Scott had stayed with him every night for a month after it happened, holding him tightly as he cried himself to sleep, it wasn’t the same. Stiles had still felt on his own, even though Scott’s arms and gentle snoring had meant the world to him, telling him that no matter what, this would be his best friend forever and that Scott would never leave him.

Stiles didn’t know what it was about Derek now, looking at him like he really was as awesome and strong as Batman, that made him feel like he used to when he was little. Less lonely, less like a disappointment. Maybe what he had really needed all this time was a dog. Maybe once this was all sorted he would talk to his dad about getting one. An Irish wolf hound, perhaps.

“Hey,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around Derek when he began to whimper. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.” Derek seemed to hear the words and Stiles distinctly saw him nod, but that didn’t stop the trembling from starting up again.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, hoping it would distract Derek long enough to get a slight hold of himself. “I can make something really good. I promise to give you none of my dad’s turkey burgers. Only real meat. I’ll even let you have a rare steak if you want, even though it’s _disgusting_ and you are so paying me back for it because good steak is expensive and-”

Derek licked a sloppy stripe up the side of Stiles’ face, cutting him off and making Stiles flail and fall off the bed. _Smooth,_ he thought, gripping the edge of the comforter and hauling himself back up to glare at Derek. The look instantly caused Derek to cower, tail between his legs, and Stiles suddenly felt like a giant asshole. He would have to remember that being anything but soft with Derek was off limits for now; that sarcasm or anything within that family branch for that matter was a strict no-no zone until he was back to normal.

“It’s fine,” he said, finding his smile came far easier than it ever had before with Derek. “It was my own fault. No really,” he added hastily when Derek just hung his head, all sad and puppy like and _oh my god Stiles was going to die from how adorable he looked like that._ “There’s a reason I’m always benched during Lacrosse games. All no hand-to-eye coordination and coltish legs. It’s only logical that I fall off the bed when you do something _incredibly_ _nice_ like lick my face with morning breath.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles couldn’t completely stay away from the sarcasm, but come on, it had been his trusty default companion since he had started to talk! (Or so his dad told him, anyway.) Derek didn’t seem to mind though, raising his head to look at Stiles in an eerily familiar fashion that reminded him that Derek was still in there and just because he was scared right now, didn’t mean there still wasn’t some, small part of him that didn’t recognise when he thought Stiles was being an idiot.

The notion made Stiles grin and Derek bark, like he was trying to say something.

Stiles had no idea how many words equated one single bark, but he knew he had at least managed to distract Derek from himself like he originally intended. (Point one to Stilinski!)

“Food?” he suggested again, earning the wolf equivalent of a shaky smile from Derek. Even that was adorable.

Stiles was definitely going to do something really stupid like _tell_ Derek that before this was all over and then Derek would probably avoid him even more than he usually did when he returned back to normal. Either that or he would bite his head off.

Stiles wondered just how much this was going to affect him when he lost his new furry friend if this was how he was feeling after only one night with him.

***

“Deaton,” Stiles gasped, not sure whether he was upset or relieved by his sudden appearance.

“Can I come in?” the veteran asked, making no move to do so anyway, which Stiles appreciated. Derek had run behind the couch at the sound of the first knock, angering Stiles in the same, unexpected way it had done last night. He may have never placed the greatest trust in Deaton, but the dude did know how to read a situation and by the way he was looking over Stiles’ shoulder, scanning the room presumably for Derek, it was evident Deaton already knew far more than anyone else did at this point.

Stiles tried to pretend that didn’t unnerve him as much as it did.

“Sure,” he said, stepping back slowly and nodding for Deaton to close the door behind him before walking over to the couch to comfort Derek. “It’s just Deaton,” he whispered, crouching down to whisper next to his ear and scratching behind it lightly.

Derek relaxed slightly at the contact, but the sound of Deaton’s voice, asking him how last night had gone, had him nose diving for- unfortunately- Stiles’ crotch, burying his face there. Whether Derek did so to try and hide himself or breathe Stiles in- which he was doing so unashamedly, by the way- he couldn’t tell. If the latter, Stiles wasn’t at all sure what Derek was getting out of it. He didn’t exactly smell like a bed of roses down there, but whatever it was, it was settling Derek like nothing Stiles had tried yet. (If hugs and soothing words were what you called trying.) Stiles was starting to realise he really didn’t have a clue what he was doing here. At all.

Deaton made an assessing sound as he peered over the back of the couch to watch them.

“Scott wasn’t lying when he said Derek had taken to you,” he said. “That’s good.”

Stiles repressed the urge to sigh because of course Deaton was going to take the long winded cryptic path with this. Nothing like, “so, Stiles, I found a way to change Derek back. All you have to do is…” He had a feeling there was going to be a lot of nodding, _goods_ and _bads_ during this conversation without any actual answers and dammit, Stiles was certain Deaton had them!

“How do we fix it?” Stiles asked, pleased with his restraint. He didn’t know why he was feeling so on edge, why he was feeling so…so _much_ whenever there was anyone else near Derek but him. Deaton certainly hadn’t done anything to spook Derek, not like Scott had. Maybe he just had a really strong paternal instinct he hadn’t been aware of up until now.

“It will fix itself in time.”

“So, what, we just…wait?” Stiles focused on keeping his voice level, aware Derek had become very still all of a sudden. Deaton’s words probably sounded less promising to him than they did to Stiles.

“As long as he stays with you and you care for him like I see you have been, like you _are,”_ he motioned to where Stiles’ hand had started absentmindedly brushing through Derek’s fur, “then it will be just fine”.

Stiles tried to retract his hand then, fearful he was embarrassing Derek for basically grooming him in front of someone, but Derek only followed it, pushing against it until Stiles’ fingers were once again combing through his slightly shaggy- but very beautiful, he couldn’t help but notice- black coat.

Deaton smiled in that way Stiles didn’t like. Last time he smiled like that, he had lost all of his memories for three days. His dad hadn’t been at all pleased.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really have another option here,” he said, wincing when Derek’s head shot up.

Stiles had watched dozens of times as Derek’s eyes had gone carefully blank, watched as his face caught itself before, god forbid, it showed it felt something. When he saw green eyes do it, it was disappointing, when he saw electric blue do it, Stiles was almost in awe of the control, but seeing black eyes trying to hide themselves- hide themselves from him- it was almost painful. “Hey, that’s not what I meant,” he tried to placate. “I love having you here.” Stiles didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not by the fact Derek would hear a steady heartbeat at the confession.

He felt his face heat up a little when Derek stared at him in what was obviously surprise, like back in the Preserve when he had yelled out in defence of him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t know I liked spending time with you up until now either.” Derek’s eyes got even wider at that and fuck, Stiles’ heart must have sped up at that because that had been a blatant lie, hadn’t it? Even when they were yelling at one another Stiles liked spending time with Derek. (It’s not like he had asked to feel that way.) If tortured- and let’s face it, that was entirely possible now he had gotten himself involved with freaking werewolves- he might even go so far as to admit he had really liked (see: loved) spending time with Derek that summer.

(Stiles was painfully aware he only ever referred to the summer he had spent with Derek as “that summer”. Not the summer he had seen Lydia in a bikini for the first time, or the summer he had spent at Disneyland with his mom, dad and Scott when he was six. No, _that_ summer belonged to the month he had spent partially renovating an old, abandoned house with a broody werewolf who he was constantly telling himself- and everybody else- he disliked _intensely._ Stiles was all up for shelving whatever reasons that lay behind that until a date where they had shrivelled up and died of their own accord, thus meaning Stiles would never have to deal with them.)

“Derek trusts you,” Deaton went on. “Just don’t abuse that and he’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

Stiles nodded, forcing himself to accept that was all Deaton was going to say on the matter before he remembered something.

“She said she wanted to expose a secret,” he said, stopping Deaton in his tracks as he made his way back towards the door. Derek tensed up again beside him, but Stiles assumed that was just due to Deaton’s sudden movement and dug his fingers more reassuringly into his fur.

“What, uh, what did she mean by that? She said she wanted to humiliate him. Is there something I need to know? Something I should avoid doing? The only thing that seems to be working on calming him down is, well, treating him like a dog, petting and stuff. I suppose that’s pretty degrading for him, right? I know Scott hates it when I make dog jokes and then there was that time with the bowl…”

Deaton didn’t answer right away, instead exchanging a look with Derek for several moments that Stiles couldn’t read before finally opening his mouth.

“Continue comforting him in any way you can,” he said. “It’s not degrading for him.”

“Then I don’t understand-”

“Derek isn’t used to people caring for him anymore,” Deaton cut him off, raising a hand. “Letting you is a big deal of massive proportions. Despite what you might think, he did have the choice to run and hide from this. Guaranteed, it would have been much worse for him and it would have taken far longer to overcome, but it would have worn off just the same. Does that answer your question?”

“Not really,” Stiles answered. Trusting anyone, especially Stiles, was obviously hard for Derek, but humiliating? Stiles didn’t quite buy it. Cruel, gruelling, completely-against-his-will, _those_ were the words that sprung to Stiles’ mind when it came to Derek and forced magical induced trust. He had the sickening feeling that being forced to let Stiles see him in this way, being forced to resort to actions he’d never take otherwise, was possibly on par with torture for Derek. Well, the Derek that was buried under this new one, anyway. All he could do was continue as he was and pray Derek didn’t come out of this more damaged than he had gone in.

Stiles didn’t want to be the reason Derek lost all contact with the pack. What if he did something wrong and Derek went to live with Cora permanently in South America? What if Derek moved back to New York and shut out _everyone?_

“What if I screw up?” he blurted out, suddenly anxious for the first time since he met him for Deaton not to leave.

“You won’t, Stiles. Just care for him.”

“Even though under all that magic that’s the last think Derek would want me to do?”

Neither wolf nor man moved, but another look was exchanged nonetheless, and Stiles’ heart sank a little. It was stupid to think Derek would ever be happy he was in this pack. Maybe if he had accepted the bite from Peter, Derek would have accepted him, but Stiles didn’t want to be a werewolf and if Derek’s concern, admiration or, yeah, even fondness- he had totally seen it- hinged on him not being human, well, Stiles would just have to suck it up. Derek didn’t know what he was missing anyway.

“You’re the only one that can’t screw this up, Stiles,” Deaton told him, crossing the room and opening the door and…yeah, he was totally gone. Rude. What if he had had more questions?

“Thanks for your faith, but I’m one hundred percent sure that’s not true, dude!”

Derek nosed at his hand, as though to contradict him. It was kind of sweet, actually and even though _Derek_ Derek didn’t have any confidence in him, it was clear this Derek did. It wasn’t the best compliment, but Stiles would take what he could get.

“I’m really sorry this happened to you, big guy.” Again, Derek ran his nose over the back of Stiles’ hand, sniffing at each finger a little longer than he thought necessary even for a normal dog, before taking the whole thing in his mouth.

“Eww, dude, gross!” Stiles spluttered, but Derek didn’t let go, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. He looked half intoxicated, half, well, feral, biting down gently and _oh,_ oh, Stiles suddenly got it.

He had so never wanted to let Derek know this. Ever. He had planned on taking it to his grave ever since Derek had rejected the suggestion in the pool.

“I trust you too, man.”  

***

It amazed Stiles just how calm Derek became after a while. It was almost like nothing was wrong with him, aside from being stuck as a fully-fledged wolf, of course.

“So, I thought we’d make a deal,” he said, coming down the stairs with his laptop, Derek in tow because he couldn’t be left alone for even one minute apparently. Showering was going to be tough, he horrifyingly realised. There were many things Stiles was prepared to do with Derek in the next few weeks, but being naked in front of him wasn’t one of them. (He didn’t need to be mocked, thank you very much.)

“I don’t tell anyone about how you had your face buried in my-” he pointed to his crotch, delighted by the way Derek looked away suddenly, like he was embarrassed, “and you never let anyone in on my love of Gossip Girl.”

Stiles never thought he would see the day where Derek Hale actually planted himself down on his couch in order to marathon a show about six rich socialites who liked scheming and having sex, but apparently that day was here, with Derek waiting patiently- only a slight hint of judgement on his face- for Stiles to press the play button.

“I know you are capable of sassing me more than that, even without your words,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. “Have you watched this before?”

Derek shook his head, a firm no, moving to create space for Stiles.

“Thanks, buddy,” he smiled, petting Derek because, why not? He enjoyed petting Derek and now that it was basically doctor’s orders…Stiles would always be able to blame it on Deaton and the fact Derek clearly enjoyed it if it was brought up at some later date to tease him.

“I’ll start from the first season, even though I’m already on the fourth. Can’t have you confused and not being able to ask what’s going on.” He winked, loving how much Derek secretly pretended to hate everything, but knowing he had a soft spot for the cheesy and ridiculous. (Derek had only started locking the door to the loft after Stiles had walked in on him watching reruns of Friends and had subsequently tried to ask him who his favourite character was.) 

Stiles remembered his face when Lydia had glared everyone into watching The Notebook last year. It had been the only time Derek had opted to sit next to him and Stiles, being all for pack bonding, had used Derek’s t-shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes when James Garner started to cry when his wife forgot who he was again. Seriously, that film was a hazard, but what was more, Derek had actually _let him_ use it. Stiles strongly suspected it was because he was struggling to fight his own tears and had most likely thrown the shirt out afterwards, but still. It had been a nice moment. For Stiles anyway.

Now, however, here they were again. Given, Derek didn’t have much choice in the matter, not if he wanted to keep close to Stiles. Stiles knew he was being a bit of a jackass, subjecting Derek to the world of Serena Van Der Woodsen and her money, but he couldn’t help but smile nonetheless. Derek could rip into him about it some other time. Maybe Derek would even like it and offer to watch it with him some time.

(Yeah right.)

The first three hours were spent with Derek huffing at every single character, but Stiles didn’t mind because, as it turned out, Gossip Girl was the perfect distraction, as long as Stiles kept a steadying hand on Derek at all times. It was better than him remaining silent in any case. At least he was engaging with it, and by the seventh episode, Derek even let out a sound of approval when Stiles fist pumped the air when his favourite couple finally got down to having sexy times in the back of a freaking _limo._ Stiles would _so_ not mind being the filling between _those_ two hot pieces of bread. No sir, he would not.

(At the same time, he did _not_ start to briefly wonder what it would be like to have sex in the back of an equally fancy car with another extremely hot person he knew. Nope. Not even a little bit. Nu-uh. Him? What? No.)

It was only when Stiles felt some interest stirring in his pants at the thought he realised just how much trouble his imagination had just gotten him into.

“I’m a virgin!” he (manfully) squeaked, when Derek turned to give him a confused, albeit slightly horrified, look. “You can’t blame me for reacting to hot people making out in front of me!” _Because that was totally the reason he was having to explain himself here._

Derek’s only reaction was to plant his face in Stiles’ crotch again and sniff. (The weirdo.) He had to admit, however, after the most minor of reactions where his hips thrust up _entirely of their own accord_ , it was an effective boner killer.

“We are so never talking about this. Ever.”

Derek just nosed further along the seam of Stiles’ jeans and closed his eyes in a strangely satisfied response.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Scott has reasons for being a douche apparently. Hmm, I wonder what they could be ;)
> 
> Partly for [ sparklepaws](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepaws/pseuds/sparklepaws) who wanted some cutesy action in the shower. Didn't quite turn out the way I had originally planned, but I did include the water flicking!

Stiles held off from showering for three days, just managing to use the bathroom for other necessary needs without Derek starting to whine outside the door and making Stiles feel terrible when he came back out and saw his whole body was trembling, curled up into a small ball.

“I don’t like leaving you,” he told him, coming down to lie beside him on the floor. “But there are some things you just really don’t need to see.”

Derek looked briefly up at him at that. Stiles thought he saw recognition there, perhaps an underlying agreement, but it was clear Derek really didn’t care about propriety right now. All he evidently cared about was that Stiles was with him 24/7, preferably always close enough to be touching him. Stiles thought themselves extremely lucky it was only the start of summer, otherwise he would have to have pretended he was suddenly blind or something. He could just imagine Harris’ face as he attempted to explain that Derek was his guide dog. Stiles would bet Derek would make an excellent guide dog.

Luckily though, _luckily,_ that wasn’t the case and as it turned out, Stiles’ dad was going to be detained by this other case for longer than he initially thought. Seriously, it was like the universe _wanted_ Stiles to spend as much uninterrupted time with Derek as possible. Not that Stiles was complaining, he just…really, really wanted to take a shower.

Sighing, he decided it was probably time to bite the bullet.

“There is only so many times I can clean myself with a wash cloth, dude. If I bring you into the bathroom with me,” he bit his lip. Was he really about to do this? “Do you think you could maybe turn the other way? I’ll talk the whole time so you know I’m there. Not that I could really escape without you seeing and of course, you would be able to sense with your freaky nose if something magically made me disappear, which I really hope doesn’t happen for both of our sakes, because I really don’t want to have to run all the way back here naked…” Stiles closed his mouth, aware he was rambling.

Instead of looking unimpressed as Derek usually did when Stiles let his mouth run, he was doing that weird stare thing he had been throwing his way for the past four days.

It made Stiles’ heart ache a little, realising how much he would kill for Derek- _Derek_ Derek- to look at him like that just once. It didn’t need to be as intense as he was looking at him right now, filled with so much…hell, _love._ Stiles knew that wasn’t what Derek was looking at him with at all right now, but there was no other way to describe it really. Drunk on magic, Stiles supposed.

It wasn’t until now that Stiles really grasped how much he really sought Derek’s approval. Not approval of something he could be, but approval of who he was; a loud mouthed little shit, yeah, but one who did _so_ much for this pack, one who had just as good a brain as Lydia when it came to saving all their asses.

Stiles had managed to win everyone around. He hung out with Isaac, Erica and Boyd nearly all the time now, shopped with Lydia and Allison on the weekends and even had his ass kicked by Kira playing video games between bro time with Scott. It was nice, being accepted for himself and not just as Scott’s best friend. But, as ever, when you get what you want there is always something else, isn’t there?

That thing, for Stiles, was Derek Hale. Derek didn’t “hang” with anyone in the pack, but he did spend some time with them, helping Erica and Boyd with their math homework every week and discussing sports with Isaac. Stiles knew Derek went out of his way to make time for them specifically because he had been Erica, Boyd and Isaac’s Alpha first. He had a soft spot for them. There was a bond there. So Stiles really shouldn’t feel jealous when Derek praised them or offered one of his rare smiles, didn’t think he really had been. After all, Derek only saw Lydia and Allison during pack meetings or movie nights and spent no time whatsoever with Scott.

Stiles mostly thought that had something to do with Scott being the Alpha now. Scott didn’t need Derek anymore and at some point Derek had stopped trying to be needed by him. Stiles knew Derek didn’t think he had done a good job of Alpha- and maybe he hadn’t been perfect, but he had tried his best and that’s all anyone could ask for, right? He knew so much more about being a werewolf than Scott ever would. It would benefit Scott to use him. To admit that, yeah, he needed him. (Truthfully, Stiles didn’t think Scott had ever really gotten over the time Stiles had told him they needed “a real Alpha” just when he had been coming to terms with being a True Alpha. He hadn’t meant to say it, really he hadn’t, but they had been in trouble and Derek, well, Derek had just popped into his head at the time.)

Obviously, Kira became “off limits”, or something, when she had started dating Scott officially, which was a shame really, because Stiles had heard both Derek and Kira talking to each other in Japanese- and while his first thought had been _Derek knows how to string together that many words?,_ it was also something Derek had in common with someone else. Derek wasn’t so weird or alienated from the world he didn’t share some common interests with the pack, himself included, but he had just seemed at home with Kira, he liked spending time with her and Stiles had been happy for him.

Kira hadn’t been the one to try and stop spending time with Derek though, it had been Derek himself who created that distance. Kira was her own person, she didn’t answer to Scott and Stiles knew his best friend. He would never try and tell Kira what to do. No, cutting ties with Kira outside of “pack time” had been Derek’s doing.

Stiles didn’t really know why Derek had stopped trying to win Scott’s approval, why he felt the need to make sure he didn’t do anything to piss him off when Stiles knew Derek _liked_ pissing people off; it was their common ground. It didn’t stop Derek from trying to help Scott at every chance he got though, because that was just Derek. He was pretty selfless, if one chose to think about it, a total martyr really and no-one, not even Stiles, had probably ever stopped to consider that before. At least up until now. Derek went about saying he stuck his neck out for no-one and yet, he’s always there. Always.

Stiles had the sudden urge to tell Derek all of this, to tell him he was awesome and fucking _worthy,_ but since he couldn’t respond, couldn’t tell Stiles anything he wanted to know in return like _why,_ he decided to just leave it. Kate hadn’t just burned Derek’s home down, she had burned him and everything he ever had been along with it, but that didn’t quite explain why Derek did what he did for Scott, treated him with more respect than anyone else in the pack, even Stiles, but at the same time, did everything to stay out of his way otherwise.

It wasn’t a secret Scott had just started shutting Derek out, that he didn’t want much to do with him, even though every time _Stiles_ had told Scott to stay clear of Derek in the beginning the dude had gone right ahead and sought the big, bad Alpha out anyway. Stiles even remembered the first day Scott practically bit Derek’s head off for no other reason than he was breathing the same air as him.

Derek and Kira had been captured and injected with some kind of supernatural truth serum by a family of passing pixies and Scott and Isaac had been hunting for them. Sending a text out to the pack once they found them, saying they were bringing them back to the loft, Stiles had planned to settle down to do some Chemistry homework. A second text from Scott, however, asking him if he could come to the loft immediately, scrapped that plan. Stiles had assumed Scott wanted him to give him and Kira a lift home, it had been a long night after all and Stiles knew Scott would want Kira safely home as fast as possible. However, when he finally got there Kira had already left with Isaac, leaving behind a stony faced Scott with Derek.

Immediately, Stiles had assumed something was seriously wrong. Derek looked like he was about to pass out, fighting with himself to stay seated when Scott glared at him and told him to “stay put” in his Alpha voice. Scott didn’t look anywhere near as bad as Derek did, but he looked ready to kill something. Or someone. Stiles wanted to ask what had happened between them, but Scott cut him off before he could speak, turning to Derek and snapping out a harsh “satisfied?” Stiles had watched at a complete loss as Derek inhaled deeply and sheepishly nodded.

Scott had taken him by the arm then, leading him from the loft, fuming. He did ask for a lift though, so maybe that’s why he had called after all. It was only when he had asked if he could stay the night at his house that Stiles grew concerned again. Scott often stayed over with Stiles, but he never _asked._ He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of Scott, however, and had just nodded in reply. There were just some moments you didn’t try and work your way into the middle of.

After that night, nothing between Scott and Derek had been the same.

Stiles realised maybe he would have to work on more than Derek’s trust issues after this was over. It wasn’t going to _do,_ whatever this thing between Scott and Derek was. Stiles was determined to fix it. Even his own relationship with Derek wasn’t as damaged as Scott’s was. Maybe he could fake a magical injury and force them to work together to help him through it, or something. Stiles would have to count on Derek helping him through whatever he came up with in return for him helping him now. Otherwise, that plan was totally not going to work. Despite how it had started to seem after a while, Stiles remained the only one in the pack Derek didn’t actively go out of his way to help. Stiles was under no illusions Derek would come to his aid because he cared about his wellbeing, but Stiles knew Derek well enough to know he would always return a favour.

“So, what do you think? Can I take a shower?” he asked, resurfacing from the murky water thoughts swirling around in his own head. Derek’s expression hadn’t changed in the few minutes Stiles had gone quiet, but he had inched closer to him.

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that etched its way on to his face when Derek made the most adorable attempt of rucking up Stiles’ t-shirt with his nose, giving his okay, before scrunching up his face in disgust.

“I told you I was disgusting,” he stated, sniffing at his armpits for dramatic effect and then wishing he hadn’t. “Couldn’t you already tell?”

Derek let out a distinct huffing sound that clearly meant yes.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” he asked, pushing himself up from where he was now lying flush against the floor, the right side of his face probably covered in carpet markings. Derek stood up with him, head nudging at Stiles’ hip, pushing him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay,” Stiles told himself, once he had closed the door behind them. “You can do this.” Walking across the room, he turned the shower bath on to let it warm up a little, stripping off his t-shirt in the process.

“Uh, think you could maybe turn around now?” he asked as Derek’s eyes very carefully took in his naked torso. Stiles had no idea what was running through Derek’s mind as he continued to look at him, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t _hot damn._ Stiles wasn’t as skinny as when he first met Derek, but he still didn’t like exercise any more than he did back then either.

Derek didn’t turn right away, continuing to drink his fill of…yeah, he was still totally looking at his chest. Stiles wanted to cover himself up, but Derek clearly wasn’t looking _at_ him, not like that anyway. He probably just needed a moment to reassure himself everything was okay. Stiles wasn’t touching him, so he imagined that Derek somehow saw him as a kind of lamp right now, that looking at Stiles was the equivalent of Derek turning on the light so he wouldn’t be scared of the dark. Knowing that that light was there, but not being able to turn it on, being told you couldn’t open your eyes to know you were safe from the darkness, Stiles realised, was pretty cruel. If not, extremely so.

It was basic instinct you did whatever you had to in order to make yourself feel better when you felt threatened, to calm yourself down by any means possible. Stiles felt like he was taking that option away from Derek by making him look away from him.

His suspicions were confirmed when Derek started to shake and whimper as he attempted to turn around, to turn the light off.

“Fuck,” Stiles cursed under his breath. Oh, he was so going to regret this. He was already regretting this.

“Okay, buddy, how about instead of turning around you just look at my face, okay? No letting your eyes wander down. Got it? I’m trusting you here.” (Not that Derek would be particularly tempted by seeing his naked body anyway.) Stiles really didn’t want to think about how that made him feel.

Derek nodded once, relaxing instantly at the suggestion and Stiles let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I mean it,” he warned, mostly just to make sure Derek’s eyes were glued to his the full time as he removed his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely naked.

It wasn’t that Stiles hated his body, there was nothing wrong with it. He just didn’t feel great in it. Moles dotted most of his skin, moles he had been made fun of for all his life, providing a stark contrast to his overly pale skin. He looked like a freaking map most of the time. Derek could probably smell his embarrassment and the thought he’d have to move now sent a warm flush travelling up his body, most likely making his face turn a thoroughly unattractive shade of beet root red.

Stepping into the bath, shower- Stiles never knew which to really call it- he turned his back to Derek and closed his eyes. It helped somewhat. This way he could at least _pretend_ he was alone. Or, at least, not in the same room as the least likely person in the world to ever _want_ to be in the same room with him while he was naked.

At least he wasn’t in danger of getting hard, like he usually did when he was in the shower. Ever since Stiles had learned his dick was an endless source of entertainment for him, he found the shower a far easier way to jerk off. The water drowned out his moans when his dad was home and it meant Stiles had to change his sheets far less often. Even when he was alone in the house, Stiles still opted to use the shower to masturbate. It just gave him that extra sense of privacy, especially when he wanted to explore his more…intense fantasies.

Peeking over his shoulder as he grabbed the soap, he was satisfied to see Derek was still looking diligently at his face and not anywhere else.

“Thanks,” he smiled. Derek tilted his head to the side in return, black eyes wandering down Stiles’ neck, stilling, and then moving back up to look into Stiles’ eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a little longer than Stiles was all together comfortable with, but he figured since Derek was being good he’d let him have it. If looking into Stiles’ eyes was what kept him grounded right now that was fine with Stiles.

He couldn’t stay that way for long, however. Looking at Derek as he began to wash himself seemed wrong on so many levels and turning around again, Stiles focused on just getting clean and out of here in the shortest time possible.

“You know, I suppose this is only fair given how many times I’ve seen you naked,” Stiles let himself talk out loud, scrubbing at his arms. “Not that I actually _look_ at you when you’re naked,” he added quickly, feeling the heat come quickly back to his face again. Maybe he had gotten an eyeful now and again, but that didn’t mean he had ever purposefully _looked._ “But, I think it’s safe to say, this is another thing we definitely shouldn’t discuss for as long as we both shall live.”

When Derek made no noise he understood him, Stiles turned his head slowly to see him looking, no _assessing_ , his ass.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he squawked, spinning to face Derek fully and realising too late that that was actually a worse situation to put himself in. Cupping his hands in front of himself, he was upset to discover he didn’t even have a towel close by to cover himself up with.

Derek faced away quickly, which Stiles supposed he was grateful for, but it didn’t do anything to lessen the burning humiliation coursing through him.

“When I said I had seen you naked, that didn’t mean I had changed my mind and was inviting you to get your own back!” He couldn’t stop talking, but neither could he move, his body trembling slightly, like it did right before he took a panic attack. “I thought we had a deal, man. At least when you strut around in all your majestic nudity after a battle, you know no-one is going to think you’re not some kind of naked god. _I,_ on the other hand, don’t even like to shower in the locker rooms after practice. Oh god,” he groaned, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He knew he was over reacting, but there was something about Derek seeing him naked, fully naked, that made him want to run away and never come back again.

“Just, please erase whatever you just saw from your mind and don’t mock me with it later. I don’t need to be reminded of the fact no-one wants to have sex with me.”

When he looked back down, Derek had moved from his position beside the door, sitting instead right in front of Stiles.

“What part of that didn’t you understand?” he asked, taking a step back and wondering how this could get any more embarrassing. He should have just not showered and dealt with the consequences. He didn’t own any cologne, but his dad did. He could have used some of that. Or there was that air freshener in the cupboard down stairs. Why hadn’t he just bathed himself in that?

“Oh, now you suddenly only want to look at my face,” he deadpanned, noticing that Derek was once again looking up and into his eyes. He clearly spoke to soon though, as just as the words left his lips Derek made a point of letting his gaze wander down Stiles’ body, inch by inch. Stiles really didn’t understand what Derek was trying to convey by doing so, or if he was just being an asshole because, werewolf puppy or not, Derek was an asshole. It was just hard to remember that when he was all…furry.

There seemed to be a moment of hesitation in Derek then, black orbs torn between trailing down Stiles’ forearms, leading dangerously close to his hands which were in no way big enough to conceal _all_ of himself, and watching the water cascade down from the shower head behind him. It would have been amusing, Derek almost looked embarrassed himself, if it wasn’t for the fact his naked, heavily lacking in muscles, body was caught up in the crossfire.

Eventually, nodding to himself, Derek seemed to decide on something and jumping forward, leaped into the shower beside him, knocking Stiles down.

Stiles was _extremely_ aware of the hot steam surrounding his now exposed dick, but when he looked up to chastise Derek, the sight that met him erased every other thought from his head, because there was Derek, sitting directly under the shower with the best bitch face Stiles had ever seen him wear, clearly not enjoying himself in the slightest, but letting himself get utterly soaked anyway and using a paw to push at the fur on the top of his head until it began sticking up in little tufts.

Stiles couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him at the image. He wished he had his phone to take a picture, but since he didn’t he just drank his fill, attaching the sight to memory to love and cherish forever, maybe even to draw one day, before taking some of the water that had started to pool below him, Derek sitting on the drainer, and splashing Derek with it.

Derek flinched and closed his eyes just before the water met his face, bringing a paw up to wipe it away after- for affect more than anything, Stiles thought, another smile twisting his mouth at the realisation Derek was only doing this to make him feel better- before nipping playfully at Stiles’ ankle and jumping back out of the shower, shaking himself all over everything.

Stiles knew he was going to have to use several towels to clean the mess up later, but for now he couldn’t bring himself to care, standing back up to finish showering, any embarrassment long forgotten as he replayed the image of Derek in his head.

***

When they went to bed that night, the summer air humid and uncomfortable outside, Stiles let himself climb in beside Derek in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a smile, for the first time in a long time feeling weirdly happy in his own skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised this for yesterday but life got in the way *sighs dramatically*
> 
> Apologies for the angst since this is mainly a fluffy fic, but it won't last for long. Promise ;)

“So…” Stiles croaked, rolling over whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes to face Derek.

It was strange how he was becoming so used to sharing a bed with him. The bed didn’t hold them both as Derek took up more space when he lay down on his side. Stiles spent most nights curled up on top of Derek, or with Derek pressed up so tightly against him, wrapped around him like some kind of furry octopus; paws draped over Stiles’ shoulder and chest to prevent him from falling off the bed.

It felt secure. Good. Too good. Stiles pushed down any thoughts of this ending. That he wouldn’t get to have this soon.

“It’s my birthday,” he finished.

Derek startled at the news, rolling forward in the least graceful way Stiles had ever seen- flailing was probably more apt a word, if you could apply the term “flailing” to a dog- crushing Stiles momentarily and then sitting back on his haunches, head looking from side to side in a way that looked like he was torn between listening to the angel and the devil floating on either side of him.

Stiles bit back a grin.

“No-one is coming,” he said, suddenly wondering if Derek wasn’t so much surprised- or whatever that reaction had just been- as scared. “I texted Scott. We agreed we can all celebrate when you’re back to your usual self.” He held up his phone to let Derek read the text for himself, but Derek’s eyes didn’t move from where they had landed on Stiles’ face.

“I still want to do something though” he added, just in case Derek had any ideas of going back to sleep. Stiles enjoyed his Birthday and sleeping was his least favourite activity when it was. It was the _only_ day he didn’t enjoy sleep.

Derek sneezed in response, surprising himself in a way that made his eyes pop.

“Allergic to the thought of having to celebrate my birthday with me?” Stiles joked, unable to hold in his laughter. “You’re going to have to suck it up, dude. Your very presence has already ruined my annual birthday jerk off marathon.”

Derek instantly stilled at the words, like Stiles had just slapped him. He mentally cursed himself for being so flippant. Derek probably thought he was being a burden again. Which, Stiles had weirdly come to realise, Derek could never be. _He_ may be the annoying 130lbs kid that burdened _Derek_ on a regular basis, but…no, that was just it. _He_ burdened Derek. _He_ sought _him_ out. It was rather a depressing thought, really.

Perhaps he should start looking into widening his social circle…

The next thing Stiles knew, however, he was being pulled from the bed and his thoughts by the front of his boxers- which _thankfully_ Derek was being careful about doing because, hello, _canines-_ and being dragged towards the door.

“Dude, you don’t need to actually do anything with me,” he laughed, shaking his head in bemusement, amused by Derek’s frantic attempts to get them both down stairs. Stiles couldn’t help but picturing real Derek doing the same thing, limbs jittery and excited, trying to get Stiles to do something, to move where he wanted him to go, rather than just shoving him this way and that. Each scenario was in stark contrast to the other and Stiles found himself desperately wishing he didn’t find both so appealing. (Well, the second one wasn’t so much appealing as it was…actually, no, no, he was so _not_ going to go there. Not when Derek was still so dangerously close to the potential embarrassment zone anyway.)

When they finally got into the living room, Derek rushed towards the kitchen, skidding to a halt and then ran back to Stiles. Stiles was on the verge of telling Derek to stop being cute when his curiosity for the better of him instead and he let himself be led into the kitchen where Derek promptly jumped up onto his front legs to nose at the cabinets until he got the right one open and knocked down a box of pancake batter.

“Are you suggesting I make my own birthday breakfast?” Stiles gasped, feigning offence. “And here I thought you were going to do something nice for me.”

He folded his arms and tapped his foot to add to the effect, holding out for all of two minutes before his guilt slapped him across the head at the fallen look on Derek’s face. The poor guy appeared genuinely put out, returning to stare at the pancake box like if he just thought or wished hard enough he’d be able to make the pancakes without Stiles’ help after all.

The small whine that escaped Derek’s throat only made matters worse for Stiles’ emotional health because wasn’t _that_ just the sweetest thing in the world?

Stiles wondered what Derek would be like on special occasions, such as birthdays and hell, maybe even Valentine’s Day, when he eventually found someone who he wanted to make the effort be with. To trust. To have and to hold and- yeah, that. (Stiles really did do his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of someone else. Someone inevitable. It was just getting harder now.)

Would he bring them breakfast in bed or make them a cake? Would he go all out and buy ridiculously expensive presents, or would he prefer another approach to those kind of days? Stiles imagined Derek not allowing the (eventual) object of his (they were in there somewhere, probably) affections to leave the bed, pushing them back down and worshipping them all day in a way only he knew how. (Stiles was so not jealous of this faceless person. He wasn’t.)

Even though Derek didn’t show it, buried it under those layers and fucking _layers_ of hard exterior, Stiles knew, just knew, Derek was a secret sentimentalist. He wasn’t Scott by any means. Thank god. He certainly wasn’t the type to write and recite love sonnets about his girlfriend’s hair- cough, cough- at least Stiles didn’t _think_ so- but Stiles had a feeling he was a sort of closet softy. It was in the little things he did when he thought no-one would notice, the way he smiled when he made someone in the pack happy or how he had stocked up on Ben and Jerry’s ice cream after that one time Erica and Boyd broke up for three days. (Stiles was pretty sure there was still at least six tubs of rocky road in Derek’s freezer waiting for another such crisis even now.)

What made the assumption ten times better was that Derek truly was an asshole. Or, more specifically, he just loved being one. He wasn’t an asshole like Jackson had been, he wasn’t mean about it; he wasn’t even an asshole in the same sense Stiles was: it wasn’t an undeniable part of his nature. Derek just liked being a cocky bastard. He used it. It was his way of, well, playing, Stiles supposed. A sort of sick sense of fun and huh. Stiles had never thought about it that way before.

Stiles wondered if that was what Derek had been like before, when he had been younger. He wondered if that’s how he flirted, using a snide smile and a deliberately aggravating comment rather than the false charm Stiles had seen him use so many times before, or, or- no, stop. Stopping. He had to just…Derek maybe didn’t hate him, but wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that Derek was arguing with Stiles partly as some sort of foreplay. That he brought out the real Derek somehow. This wasn’t some sappy movie where he fixed the tragic, brooding hero through the power of love. He had seen more than his fair share of the supernatural in these past couple of years, but Stiles’ love life remained- and would probably always remain- firmly planted in the real world. The one where he was left hugging a pillow alone every night.  

Derek barked, bringing Stiles back to the other very real situation in front of him. The one in which Derek seemed genuinely invested in ensuring Stiles had a good start to his birthday, nosing at the fallen pancake box and wagging his tail. _Derek Hale was wagging his tail._ Stiles let that sink in for a moment before his mind once again wandered elsewhere. It was almost possible to believe, just for a second, this was Derek. _Derek_ Derek. That somewhere underneath all of that magic they had bonded in this last week and Derek- the real Derek- really did care it was his birthday; really did want him to have a good day.

“I’ll make the pancakes on one condition,” he said, leaping forward to catch the bowl Derek had found and was now edging along towards him on the counter before it fell and smashed. “If there is an uneven number, I get the last one.”

Derek nodded once firmly, a graceful finality to it that had all the presence of a handshake and Stiles set to work, mixing the milk and eggs in with the mix and using his mom’s old ladle to spoon the batter into the frying pan he got sizzling with a little butter, loving the sound as yellow liquid hissed into nothing.

Dropping back down onto all fours, Derek was pressed up against his leg the entire time as Stiles’ focused on making the perfect golden brown circles, scenting the air and then nosing at Stiles’ skin, greedily licking at the bits of rogue batter that escaped from the pan and splashed on to his bare arm or leg.

Stiles had always been wary of cooking anywhere close to naked, once having managed to burn himself whilst wearing a tracksuit- he still had no clue how it had happened- and part of him wanted to go and throw something on, in the name of safety, but there was something so domestic about the whole thing, cooking in nothing but the boxers he had woken up in, Derek by his side, that made him happy. Content.

He tried not to think about what it would be like if Derek was in his human form, standing at Stiles’ back, flush against him in only a pair of old sweatpants- perhaps Stiles’- nibbling teasingly at his shoulder, wanting just to taste the skin there, but also trying- and most likely succeeding- to distract Stiles enough to steal every second pancake as he flopped them onto the waiting plate beside the pan.

The image took him completely off guard, the blood travelling to his dick stolen straight from his heart- shut up, that’s how it felt, okay? - and the next thing he knew, he lost control of the ladle and stumbled forward in true Stilinski style. Stiles reached out to protect himself from falling face fist into the pan, but unfortunately his hand caught on to the bowl instead. He watched, as though in slow motion, as the bowl did a gymnastic flip deserving of at least an 8, before the leftover batter went flying everywhere, all over the floor, the cabinets and completely coating Stiles’ chest and face in all its sticky glory.

“Oh man,” he groaned, looking down at himself. He was dripping. Actually dripping, like some sort of dessert Scooby Doo monster.

Derek let out a small sound, like he was trying not to laugh and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

“This is your fault!” he accused, biting his tongue when he realised while it was _Derek’s_ fault, it wasn’t Derek’s fault. (Note to self: never fantasise about hot sourwolves while handling food. Of any kind.) That only ever seemed to work for those women on the television ads without any embarrassing results and even then, they were only ever eating chocolate.

Derek cocked his head, assessing or opening mocking Stiles couldn’t be certain, before jumping up and pushing Stiles down with two strong paws until he was sprawled out flat on his ass.

“Ow!” Stiles cried, more out of surprise than anything else. He had fallen down way too many times in his life to find it even remotely painful anymore. He may as well have a tattoo on his ass reading “thoroughly desensitized”. The thought, unfortunately, just led Stiles on to thinking about all the ways pain still could be inflicted on his ass and coupling that with how Derek liked to manhandle him, even in his wolf form… which totally didn’t surprise Stiles. At all. It was kind of comforting really, the familiarity of it. What was not comforting was how it all just served to turn him on even more. He really hoped Derek couldn’t smell it. It wasn’t like he was hard or anything. Maybe a twitch. A slight stirring at the most.

He supressed a sigh.

It wasn’t the biggest revelation. In fact, it wasn’t one at all. Stiles was just a fan of ignoring all of his less life threatening problems and Derek Hale just happened to be one of them. He was attracted to Derek Hale. There, he had said it. Admitted it. Whatever. He had, of course, known that little particular fun sized fact since that first day in the preserve- the dude was hot like burning and Stiles had acted like a complete spaz when Derek had walked through those trees for the first time, in a way Stiles really thought should have been accompanied by angel serenades and a fog machine or something- but finding someone attractive and being _attracted to them_ were two very different things.

Stiles didn’t need to picture Derek naked, sweaty and panting his name- although that was a nice image- to feel anything for him. He just needed to imagine Derek. Derek’s presence, the ghost of his shadow, his voice, anything was enough to elevate his heart rate, make his pulse beat that little bit faster.

Derek may be a sex god, had the potential to earn thousands as a model or be the new popular face of the porn industry- and ethics be damned, Stiles would watch the shit out of that- but it was Derek that did it for Stiles. Not the way he looked in a Henley. (Even if his face was something that- in Stiles’ opinion- Michelangelo couldn’t have perfected.)

Stiles decided he would deal with not being able to deny his…feelings….oh god, they were feelings, for- no, _towards,_ yeah, that sounded easier to handle- Derek at a later date. Preferably at a time after he had had sex and his desire for Derek wasn’t laced with the burning, crippling curiously of what it felt like to have someone touch him like that for the first time _._ Someone that, hopefully, wanted to make him feel good and not just take. Someone who wanted to go slow with him, wanting to cherish every inch of him and maybe even stay after.

He had no doubts Derek was probably a generous lover.

Probably liked making someone feel good more than he liked getting off himself.

Stiles wanted to remedy that, be the one to make Derek feel loved and-

No, no, no.

Fuck. He was so screwed.

“What?” Stiles asked, forcing himself to look at Derek- this Derek. He realised his breathing had become laboured and prayed to whatever gods that watched people get themselves into these kind of depressing situations that Derek thought it was from the fall and not his own, lurid thoughts.

Derek was vulnerable right now and actually looking _happy._ Stiles was not going to be the person to have inappropriate thoughts about someone when they weren’t in their right mind. When Derek got back to normal and started shutting him out again, avoiding him like the plague and telling him to “shut up” Stiles would be able to jerk off to him all he wanted.

He’d have revenge jerking off marathons. Revenge for Derek being his own Derek-y way, telling Stiles he didn’t want him joining them on stake outs because he was just a useless human. Not that Derek had ever said that to him, but it was heavily implied.

Yeah, well, next time he was sent home- after being the one to do a fuckton of research, thank you very much!- he would just fucking accept it, go home and have sex. By himself. Calling out Derek’s name.

That would show him.

(Stiles had no doubt he was probably going to end up in therapy at some point in the new few years and it would have absolutely nothing to do with the fact his best friend got turned into a werewolf when they were fifteen, changing their lives forever.)

“What?” he asked again, but Derek just ignored him, pressing in closer and without even the slightest bit of hesitation, ducked his head and started giving Stiles, what he could only describe as, a tongue bath in an attempt to get rid of the batter.

Stiles wanted to tell him it was okay, that he would just get a shower, but he really didn’t have to want to face the shower again. He had had to face it with Derek twice now because Stiles liked his hygiene, okay? And each time Derek’s eyes had wandered south of the equator. Stiles assumed it was something to do with the spell, that Derek had to make sure he was all there or something like that. He wasn’t going to pretend to understand, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t get embarrassed as hell at the thought of Derek scrutinising his naked body.

Especially now he had just admitted to himself that he really, really wanted to get all up in that. (He could be so eloquent sometimes.)

Derek continued to lap at the sticky batter, clearly intent on cleaning every last inch of Stiles’ chest and, kind of grossly, face. Stiles let himself fall back onto his elbows, nonetheless, and decided to just let him.

He was evidently enjoying it, by the way his eyes kept fluttering shut and who was Stiles to put a stop to something Derek enjoyed? Stiles didn’t think the particular brand of pancake mix they had been using was all that tasty, but obviously Derek thought it was the best damn thing in the world because when he had finished and was licking up the last gooey drop, he actually whined.

“Sorry buddy,” Stiles brought his hand up to rub at the top of Derek’s head. “I don’t even have any more to whip up for you. We used the whole box.”

Derek sighed and gave Stiles one last lick, probably savouring whatever remaining taste was still clinging to his skin.

Stiles had never known anyone to love pancake batter as much as Derek did. Even Scott, who used to steal the bowl and lick it clean when Mrs McCall used to make them chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast every Saturday morning.

(He was so not thinking about making pancakes for the pack at the loft every once in a while now. Nope.)

***

“It’s been eleven days,” Stiles told Scott over the phone as he settled down on his bed. They had spent the entire day watching all of the _Saw_ movies- which Stiles actually found pretty tame compared to real life now- and Derek hadn’t even flinched. Just lay there contently on Stiles’ lap, like nothing was wrong. That was surely progress and yet, nothing. No beauty and the beast transformation. Nada. “Should we start getting worried?”

“I have no idea,” Scott responded helpfully, although Stiles could tell Scott wasn’t being stubborn about it.

“He’s not as frightened, which is good. Unless I leave him. Yesterday, I got locked out of the house and he ran upstairs and _jumped_ out of my bedroom window to get to me. It was a good thing it had been open.”

Stiles said it like the whole thing had been the bane of his existence, but he couldn’t help throwing Derek a fond wink and a smile as he did. The werewolf just nuzzled into him and closed his eyes. Stiles didn’t know if being tired was just a dog thing in general, or if Derek just liked the excuse to snuggle- because that was totally what it was at this point. Shameless snuggling. There was no denying it. Either way, Stiles was definitely not complaining.

“Can I come and check on you?” Scott asked, hope saturating every syllable. Stiles almost felt bad, but Derek was his priority right now and that meant Scott not being here.

“Why?” he asked anyway.

He missed his best friend. He had never gone this long with seeing him and that included the time Scott had gotten chicken pox when they were twelve. No-one was surprised, least of all Melissa, when the school had called and said Stiles was missing. His dad had found him in Scott’s bed twenty minutes later, reading him comic books and hand feeding him Cheetos.

“To make sure you’re okay,” Scott answered.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, instead of _wrong answer._ He didn’t know if being defensive of Derek and what he did for the pack would dissipate along with the spell, but it didn't perplex him like it had at the beginning. Someone should be reminding everyone just how amazing Derek was every now and again. Maybe it would even help Derek to stop hating himself. Make him realise he was wanted, rather than just needed. It would kill his pride, but Stiles liked the thought of embarking on that mission.

“You might think that, but-” Scott cut himself off, hesitating with his next words.

Derek quickly lifted his head at the pause, which had journeyed up and onto Stiles’ chest, as though anxiously waiting for Scott’s answer himself.

“I just want you to be happy,” he finally said.

Stiles frowned. Those hadn’t been the words he had been anticipating. Not that he wasn’t pleased to hear them. “Uh, thanks man. I want you to be happy too.”

Scott sighed, in what sounded like frustration, before continuing. Stiles thought he even heard Scott’s head bang against his headboard a couple of times. He must have been sitting on his bed too.

“I just want what’s best for you, you know?” he said, forcing Stiles to sit up because, what? “I want you to get away from here, from all of this. I want you go to any college you want. You’d get your pick of anywhere. You’re the smartest guy I know, Stiles. I want you to have a normal life. You can’t…you’re in this now because of me but if he tells you-” Scott cut himself off again, however, groaning.

Derek’s ears had gone down and Stiles instinctively went to scratch behind them, but Derek drew back from him and moved to the end of the bed. It was the first time he had refused any kind of contact. Stiles wanted to slide down beside him and wrap his arms around his neck anyway, but refrained. Derek’s eyes had gone carefully blank and he wasn’t going to push him into anything he didn’t want.

“Where the hell if this coming from?” Stiles asked instead, turning his attention back to Scott.

He was kind of hurt if he was being honest. He knew he should be appreciative of the fact Scott loved him enough to let him go and all that, but being away from Scott, from the pack, had never entered Stiles’ head. He wanted to be close to them. He wanted to be a part of their lives. They were a family. Dysfunctional, but a family all the same.

“Scott, listen to me,” he said, giving him no time to reply. “I know you think being a werewolf makes you abnormal, a monster, but it doesn’t. It simply means you have more abilities than most people. _Normal_ is a social construct. You have strength you never had to work for and senses that, yeah, are a little freaky but totally awesome. That’s it. Okay, so there’s some other stuff too, like attracting very real monsters and sometimes very annoying magical woodland creatures and yeah, there’s the fur thing and the glowing eyes and _sometimes_ there’s the stuff that puts me in danger, but you’re not invincible either Scott. You’re in danger too. All the time and I can help with that. I can research the fuck out of anything and I know you all appreciate it, even if it’s only Lydia that ever gives me a praising pat on the cheek at the end of the day. I’m not leaving you. I like being in this pack, your pack. We’re brothers and if I go off to college, it’ll be somewhere close by. My normal is this pack and don’t you ever try to push me out of it.”

Stiles tried to end on an angry note, but it came out almost as a plea. So maybe he was a little more than hurt. He had finally found a place, people that were louder around a dinner table than just him and his dad and Stiles liked it. He really liked it.

Scott stayed silent on the other end of the line, but Stiles could still hear him breathing.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “It has to be your choice though. Promise me that, Stiles.” It wasn’t Scott’s Alpha voice, it was his Stiles-I’m-being-deadly-serious-here voice.

“I promise, Scott.”

“No, listen,” he said and Stiles heard Scott move and something crash. He had visions of Scott knocking over his bedroom lamp. Again. (And people called _him_ the clumsy one.) “I just never want you to feel guilt tripped into staying here because of what we are, or how badly we want you here.”

Stiles was clearly missing something here. He looked over to Derek, not quite sure what he was hoping to find, but Derek determinedly looking away from him wasn’t it. Stiles didn’t understand. It wasn’t like looking away gave his conversation with Scott any semblance of privacy.

Something funny twisted in his gut when another thought dawned on him. Was Derek… _disappointed_ in him? Angry he wasn’t planning on leaving? Suddenly, he felt like crying.

“We’re a family, Scott,” he said anyway, proud with how steady his voice sounded. “Even if some people aren’t happy about it.” He couldn’t help but glance towards Derek again, his eyes traitorously drawn to him.

Derek was looking right back, perhaps having senses Stiles’ gaze and suddenly, it was like he was falling and something inside him was fucking breaking because Derek really didn’t want him to stay, did he? He was probably counting on Stiles leaving after he graduated, looked forward to only having to tolerate him at Christmas and during the longer breaks between semesters.

“What people?” Scott asked, like he didn’t already know. Maybe he didn’t. After all, Scott never paid any attention to Derek. He probably didn’t even realise how much Derek couldn’t stand him. Derek only put up with Stiles now because he didn’t want to upset Scott.

If he had been the one who had been bitten, would Derek have liked him instead? Would he have taken him under his wing like Derek had tried to do with Scott? Or would he have still hated him regardless?

For the first time in his life, Stiles was jealous of his best friend and it terrified him that he knew why.

He was in love with Derek Hale.

He was in _love_ with Derek Hale.

It hadn’t been all of a sudden. He knew that. But…oh fuck, when _had that_ happened? It wasn’t even like it was _this_ Derek he was in love with either, even though Stiles would have preferred to say it was. That he had been sucked in by an adorable werewolf puppy.

He wanted to say that it wasn’t something that had been slowly building up. That it wasn’t the Derek who could meet him on every level of sarcasm like it was a game, batting back each remark back to him like a professional verbal tennis player. That it wasn’t the Derek who tried to hide his smiles because they took him by surprise every. single. time, like he didn’t know what to do with them. Wasn’t the Derek who played the arrogant, charming player to get what he needed but inside was really just an insecure mess who wanted the familiarity of a pack more than anything. Wasn’t the Derek who tried to do everything to make up for his past, knowing he would never forgive himself. The Derek that still partly clung to Peter even though Stiles knew he hated him just as much as he hated himself.

“Stiles? Stiles?” Scott was saying his name, must have been saying it for a while now because he sounded frantic and Stiles tried to breathe, really he did, but all he could manage was a few, faint whisps.

Derek was beside him in an instant, nose running all over his face and Stiles wanted to push him away, wanted to be able to run and hide and ignore it all, but he couldn’t. He had a duty to Derek, to stay with him, but what was worse, what was probably going to kill him, was the fact that he knew anything he did right now Derek wouldn’t repel. If he just buried his face in his shoulder and held on for dear fucking life, Derek wouldn’t budge. Because this Derek cared about him. This Derek liked him and needed him and maybe it made him a masochist, but Stiles was going to take what he could get right now.

“I’ve got to go, Scott. I forgot I had dinner on.” Stiles could always lie convincingly when he needed to- before the days of his friends being human lie detectors- and even though Derek tilted his head to the side in confusion, full well knowing they had eaten only an hour ago, Scott bought it. Or, at least, he pretended to.

“Okay, man,” he sighed. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will,” and with that, Stiles hung up.

He didn’t even bother looking at Derek before he wrapped himself around him and squeezed tightly.

Stiles could tell Derek wanted him to say what was going on. That he was worried. Wanted him to explain exactly what had changed in the last five minutes and Stiles, because he had been watching far too many romantic comedies with Lydia lately, the ones where life was just one big happy dream in the end, was truly on the brink of telling him. On the brink of just letting go and saying _I’m in love with you. Please don’t hate me. I’m in love with you. Just listen for a second. It’s not that crazy is it?_

Oh no.

Derek was pulling back now and staring at him. _Really_ staring at him and…and he had just said all of that out loud, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, embarrassed and angry at himself, scrambling back to get away and for the first time since that first night, Derek stayed put, not attempting to follow him. Why would he? After what Stiles had just said. Derek could still understand him after all, underneath all the magic. Had to be disgusted by Stiles’ words.

He could try taking it back, but he couldn’t think of a way of phrasing it without Derek hearing the lie. Plus, he would have to have heard Stiles’ steady heart beat the first time around. Oh god, what had he done? He had never been so upset at his lack of brain to mouth filter.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because what else could he say?

He looked to the door, wanting to get away more than anything and every other thought left his head as he continued to take it in.

Turning his back to Derek he ran towards it, but it wasn’t two seconds before Derek was off the bed and after him, pressing him up against the door, raised on his hind legs and caging him in so Stiles’ hand was trapped awkwardly just under the door handle.

It reminded him slightly of the time Derek had pressed him up against the door when they had first met. When he had been hiding from the cops. From his dad. He always wondered why Derek had chosen to hide out with him instead of Scott.

But now wasn’t the time to ponder over that. Maybe when he had fled the country. He could go to visit his grandma in Poland. He would be able to cry there at least, curl up into a ball and eat her awesome home cooked meals until he was fat and didn’t care about anything anymore. He was sure he could set up some kind of Wi-Fi connection there, e-mail Scott with new research; with updated versions of the Bestiary.

He was so busy imagining his new life with his Grandma and having to learn Polish for real, not just throwing the casual phrase around in front of her like he usually did when she came to visit, that he didn’t notice at first that it was no longer two furry legs on either side of him, but two hands. Two strong, capable hands. Hands, he realised with a further sickening feeling, he knew much better than he thought he did. He’d probably be able to pick those hands out of a line up.

“Stiles,” Derek said. His voice slipped into Stiles’ ear and vibrated down the length of his spine, making him quiver. “Stiles, please look at me.”

“No.” He wasn’t going to do this. He _couldn’t_ do this.

“Stiles, either you turn around or I make you.”

Stiles thought about that. Worse than facing him, was the idea of Derek touching him right now. That he really couldn’t bare it.

Slowly, Stiles turned to look at him.

It was only when he was met with indescribable shades of green instead of black that it fully sunk in what had just happened.

“Why are you back?” he asked.

Derek looked conflicted for a moment, opening his mouth and closing it before sighing and looking away.

“Disappointed?” he asked, face devoid of any emotion. Just like always.

“Yes.”

Derek’s head snapped back to him as soon as the word was out. Stiles could have sworn hurt flashed across his face, but he schooled whatever it had been just as quickly as it came on it and he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay that way,” he whispered, the words sounding like they were being physically forced from him. “I know you don’t…I know it’s not me that…I’m not him.”

Stiles waited for Derek to go on, could see more words forming there, but when they finally left Derek’s lips he wished he had spoken first, pushed back, laughed it off or _anything_ because what he said next hurt like hell. A punch straight to the gut.

“You don’t love me.”

Even though it didn’t sound like one, Stiles knew it was an order. It had to be. Of course Derek thought he could just command this away. _Of course he did._ Stiles told himself not to cry, to wait it out and get his shit together before he made a fool of himself, but it was like his body didn’t care how pathetic he was going to make himself look because there were tears, real tears starting to slide down his face, stinging his skin.

Derek’s breath hitched, hesitantly moving his hand to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry I can’t be him for you.”

Derek looked as though he was about to cry himself, which just made matters worse because the last thing Stiles wanted was Derek’s _pity_ right now _._ He didn’t want Derek wishing himself back into a form in which he was _forced_ to like him. He didn’t want Derek to do the martyr act for him. Why Derek would even want to do that for him was beyond Stiles.

He was probably just saying it, wanting this whole thing to be over; like when people used to tell him they would do anything to bring his mom back for him, but what they really had wanted was for Stiles to stop crying. They wouldn’t have done _any_ thing, just like Derek wouldn’t turn back into his friend, even if he did have the choice. He just wanted Stiles to snap out of it, to pretend he was okay long enough for Derek to escape.

“Why are you even still here?” Stiles snapped, hoping Derek would take the hint and leave, but at the same time restraining himself from what he really wanted to do; fall into Derek’s arms and wrap his own around Derek’s neck. Beg him not to go. Bury his face in his chest.

His very naked chest, Stiles suddenly noticed. Oh fuck. Derek was naked. _Don’t look down,_ he thought. _Don’t look down._

Instead, he imagined what it would be like, just for a moment, what it would be like for Derek to hold him, to want him. Which, yeah, he knew was pathetic but at least it distracted him long enough from Derek’s- fuck, he was so beautiful he could cry- body.

“In a couple of days, you’ll be fine,” Derek said, voice carefully assembled like _he_ was the one having to fight off his emotions. “When you remember what you actually think of me, you’ll realise your mistake.”

But Stiles only heard half of the words, “fine” and “mistake” blaring like an ugly foghorn in his mind.

Did Derek think his feelings were some kind of joke? That they could be so easily erased? Was Stiles not at least _entitled_ to what he felt? Clearly Derek thought this was just some silly crush.

This wasn’t Lydia. Stiles knew this wasn’t something he would be able to get over. He wasn’t able to delude himself into thinking he could settle for friendship. Not that Derek would even give him that. At best he would try and tolerate him a little more, but only until he didn’t feel guilty anymore. Probably.

Looking back up into Derek’s eyes, Stiles decided that was exactly what Derek was feeling right now. Guilty. Derek thrived off of guilt and Stiles was just one more thing to add to that fucked up bandwagon, wasn’t he?

“You know what, Derek? Fuck you!”

Pushing him back with a force Stiles didn’t even know he was capable of, he managed to knock Derek’s hands away from him and turning, opened the door and bolted out and along the corridor, taking the stairs two and three at a time before shakily unlocking the front door and running out, half expecting Derek to run after him, but only finding the tears came faster, blurring his vision, when he didn’t.

***

Scott was opening the door before Stiles had even taken his first step past the last stair of the porch.

“What happened?” he demanded, looking around, presumably for Derek, before dragging Stiles inside and up to his bedroom.

“Derek returned to normal,” Stiles mumbled, trying to get a hold of himself but it was like the floodgates had opened because all that came out after that was a series of uninterrupted hiccups.

“What happened?” Scott asked again, straightening Stiles to look at him and then pulling him into a hug when Stiles just shook his head.

“Stuff was said and now I don’t know what to do.”

Scott’s hold on him tightened momentarily and then he was pulling back to look at him cautiously, wide eyes scanning his face like there were words written there explaining the whole story.

“It’s okay,” Scott said. “You won’t have to feel awkward. I’ll ban him from everything but the really essential pack meetings. He doesn’t even like them.”

“He does,” Stiles whispered, before realising what Scott had just said. “What? Scott, _no._ This isn’t his fault. It’s mine. He shouldn’t be punished for my feelings.”

Scott clearly didn’t compute the words, looking furious. It wasn’t an expression he usually wore and Stiles didn’t really know what to do with it.

“You are allowed to say no, Stiles,” he bit out, grabbing his shoulders. “This is his problem, not yours.”

It was only then that Stiles realised what Scott was saying. What he thought had happened. What he was implying.

“You think Derek told me he lo-” he cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence. Instead he scoffed, or at least tried to, before going over to Scott’s bed and curling up in the middle of it.

“I told Derek I love him,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to, it just came out and then he basically told me I would get over it, like it was that easy, like he was praying I would just agree, that there was some magical potion I could take and everything would be back to normal. Wait,” Stiles said, practically hurling himself into a sitting position.

“ _Is_ there a potion? Do you think Deaton would know something?” He was already fumbling for his phone, realising too late he had left it by his bed, but before he could reach for Scott’s, Scott was in front of him, lowering himself down so he was at eye level, as though he was preparing himself to talk to a small child.

“I’m not crazy, Scott. This might be the only way both Derek and I get to stay in the pack.” Again, he tried to reach for Scott’s phone, but his best friend grabbed both of his hands in his and took a deep breath.

“Stiles, I think you’re confused. Derek…Derek is in love with you. He thinks you’re his-” he shook his head, hesitant to finish.

The laugh that was ripped from Stiles bordered on painful, but the genuine look that appeared on Scott’s face left him confused instead of angry.

He would have felt sorry for him, if he wasn’t feeling so sorry for himself. It was just like Scott to think this was some sort of lovers misunderstanding. He saw everything like a romantic movie.

Stiles was pretty sure Scott would always be the one in his relationships to remember every anniversary, every first, cataloguing every moment. He admired it for all of two seconds, before thanking god he was not like that. He liked his slightly cynical view of the world. Liked he wasn’t envisioning some sort of romantic movie ending with Derek coming up through Scott’s window and saying he loved him.

No, thank god he knew what was what. Derek was probably planning a trip as they sat there, packing a bag and calling up the airline because he still didn’t have a phone that wasn’t the weight of a brick. Shit, what if he left? What if he left for good? The thought didn’t relieve him at all. In fact, Stiles knew he would rather sit and pine after what he couldn’t have but could still see, than cry over something that was completely gone. The last time Derek left Stiles had been restless. He couldn’t imagine what he would feel like now. What he would do.

“Shit,” Scott cursed, scrunching up his eyes, then, “shit.” He looked up at Stiles and it was like a lightbulb had gone off in Scott’s head; a lightbulb so bright Stiles would bet on being able to see it if he squinted hard enough.

“He really didn’t tell you, did he?” Scott said. “He had the chance to have you and he pushed you away.”

“Tell me what?” Nothing Scott was saying was making any sense. Derek didn’t want any part of him.

“Scott, do you think if Derek had said _anything_ along the lines of ‘I love you too’ I would be sitting here right now? Derek wants nothing to do with me. He avoids me, Scott. Actively avoids. Like the plague. Like I’m something that could kill him if he caught me.”

“That’s probably how he does feel,” Scott said. And rude. So not helping. Stiles so should have gone to Lydia or Allison. They would have had him in a blanket by now. They would have had _ice-cream._ The good kind.

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles deadpanned. “I’m so lucky to have you for a best friend.”

“No, no,” Scott was quick to correct himself, but it was too late. Rejection coming from Derek was one thing, but knowing how much the love of his freaking life- or whatever Derek was to him- hated him, coming from his best friend, was an even lower punch to the gut. In fact, it was like taking a bat right to his balls.

Stiles expected Scott to look sheepish, apologetic, something, anything other than…happy? Seriously? Was Scott actually _smiling_ right now?

“Stay right there,” he said, rising and backing up towards the door.

“Where are you doing?” Stiles cried. “This is awful best friend etiquette. You’re supposed to cheer me up. Not run away! You _like_ feelings, Scott. I listened to you for hours after every break up with Allison. Don’t you think I deserve some of the same treatment?”

“I’m going to do you one better,” Scott smiled. “Stay there,” he said again and like that, he was gone.

Scott was officially being demoted from his role as best friend. He’d put an ad in the paper tomorrow for a new one.

Sighing, he made the most of Scott’s bed anyway, too exhausted to move and opted to hide under the covers, pulling them up over his head and wishing the whole world away.

Maybe when he woke up he would have turned into a giant bug like in that Kafka book and then all this shit would be a distant memory because he’d be a bug and that would totally suck and all he would be able to focus on was how to get back to not being a bug. In the end, he would realise that he was just grateful to be alive or some random crap like that and forget all about his crushing love for Derek Hale.

That was the dream anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid boys never listening properly! Just one more chapter to go now. (I think...)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, this chapter was going to be a really hot, passionate coming together sex scene. What it turned into was more of a really slow, kind of angsty, love scene. In a couple of words- sex with a lot of intense and mushy feelings. I _may_ have gotten a little carried away on the mushy part, so...apologies for that, but I hope you like it nonetheless! 
> 
> Also, thank-you for all your kind words, you have no idea how happy they made me- especially because this is unbeta'd and I have no idea where I'm going with things half the time!

The slamming of the door downstairs woke Stiles up with a jolt.

It was dark out now, the only night seeping into the room coming from the crack underneath the door. Sitting up, it took Stiles’ eyes a moment to adjust before he could make out he was still in Scott’s bed.

Where the hell had he been for- he rolled over and felt for Scott’s phone, still on the bedside table. It read just a little after ten. What had he been doing for _four hours_?

Stiles hoped there hadn’t been some kind of incident, but at the same time he prayed Scott was returning home with some sort of supernatural related news in which he would be required to spend several, mind-numbing days focusing on.

In fact, he was sure that’s what it was and with every urgent footstep that came up the stairs and closer to Scott’s bedroom, Stiles’ heart lifted a bit. Work was always the answer. Screw, Kafka and wallowing in eternal misery as a bug, all he really needed was something to _do,_ but as he sat further forward, listening more closely, he was suddenly aware of a second pair of footsteps on the stairs and Scott’s voice hissing-

“I swear to god, Derek, if you chicken out of this I’m going to…well, I’m going to do something.”

Stiles’ initial reaction was to roll his eyes. His best friend seriously needed to work on his threats if he was going to be any kind of Alpha. Sassy comments were supposed to come with the badass territory after all.

However, that thought was hastily pushed aside in favour of Stiles contemplating jumping out of Scott’s bedroom window. Sure, he’d risk a few broken bones, but that was life wasn’t it? Better breaking a leg or his collar bone than having his pride crushed even further tonight.

He was already sliding off the bed, but Scott’s next words had him pausing.

Never in a hundred years- well maybe more like thirty- did Stiles think Scott would say the words, “I’m sorry, Derek. I didn’t realise you actually cared about him, alright? I thought it was just your wolf latching on to my best friend.”

Stiles listened with bated breath to Derek’s very audible sigh as they finally reached the top of the landing.

_There was still time to run…_

“Your wolf isn’t separate from you, Scott. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Derek bit back.

Scott huffed, but it was more contemplative than anything else.

_Last chance…_

But Stiles stayed where he was, unable to focus on anything but the fact Derek hadn’t denied what Scott had said. About him caring. Why hadn’t he denied that? Maybe he had and Stiles just hadn’t heard it. Derek was known for his brooding silence and poor conversation after all. What was important was why Scott had said it in the first place. His best friend clearly had a few loose bolts floating around aimlessly in that brain of his and was now Alpha-forcing Derek to come and talk to him.

Stiles loved Scott. He’d be best man at his wedding and godfather to his kids, but he would always, _always_ hate him for this. It was not going to help anybody. In fact, after tonight, Stiles wasn’t sure if Scott wasn’t going to have to find a new best friend or beta.

The bedroom door was flung open before Stiles’ brain came back online enough to tell him to move, or at least pretend he was asleep. Not that he thought he could outsmart two werewolves into thinking he was a sleep. There was probably a specific breathing pattern or some kind of “sleep scent” they would be able to pick up on. At least Stiles could still trick his dad into thinking he was still asleep on the days he wasn’t ready to face the world yet. Good old human father!

He felt a little odd not turning to face the door, after all he could just look at Scott, but when he did he wished he could go back in time with a big neon banner that blinked _DO NOT LOOK_ because the light from the hall illuminated Derek like some sort of freaking angel and Stiles’ breath caught embarrassingly in his throat, despite himself.

Be cool, he thought. Just be cool.

“What’s he doing here?” he asked Scott instead, because, nope, being a child about this was so much easier. Derek would probably leave of his own accord, pathetic Alpha threats or not, if he kept it up.

As if reading his mind, Derek averted his gaze where it had fallen on Stiles and turned to leave, but Scott blocked his path, barring him from leaving with an outstretched arm across his beta’s chest.

Derek tried to push past it, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best and Stiles’ heart traitorously leapt at the thought he actually wanted to stay. That not wanting to be in the same room as him was all just a pretence.

That is, it leapt before he realised Scott had just spent the better part of four hours getting Derek here in the first place. There was a chance three out of four of those hours had been spent tracking him- Derek was almost impossible to find when he didn’t want to be- but that didn’t mean Derek was here of his own free will. He was doing his Alpha’s bidding, just like Derek always did for Scott.

Once again, something funny churned in his stomach about how willing Derek did anything for Scott, but for the first time his discomfort wasn’t aimed at Scott taking what he wanted from Derek, his discomfort was _for_ Derek. What had changed that night that now made Derek so eager to do every little thing he could do right by Scott? It certainly hadn’t been that way at first when Scott had become Alpha. Far from it.

“He’s here because you two have a lot to talk about,” Scott answered, bringing Stiles’ back into the present and all but shoving Derek into the room. “I would leave and give you both some privacy, but I have a feeling I won’t get my bedroom back at all if I do and I kind of like my bed, so here it goes.”

Scott coughed, as though about to embark on some great speech, when Derek’s eyes flew up to his Alpha’s face, pleading with him not to go on with whatever he was about to say. He looked like he was going to be sick and Stiles almost felt bad. Wanted to stop Scot himself. Wanted to reach out and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. Perhaps swing his legs until they were wrapped tightly around his waist and cradle him because he couldn’t stand the puppy dog look coming from human Derek. It broke the bits of his probably-already-on-life-support heart.

As if sensing Stiles’ feelings- except, without the “as if” because _if course_ Derek had picked up on whatever pathetic emotion radiating from him- he turned to look at Stiles, eyes softening for a moment as though forgetting where he was, before they returned to looking wounded, try as he might to look unaffected. It was strange, witnessing Derek Hale fail to school his features, but, strangely enough, not disconcerting. Nice, even.

“There’s a reason I have been treating Derek like…well…the way I have been,” Scott started, looking a little sheepish.

Stiles’ eyes widened at that because _what?_ Stiles had been under the impression Scott’s words were going to be along the lines of “my best friend is unhappy and I think if you gave it a shot (see: force yourself) you’d make each other happy”. After which, Stiles and Derek would have a talk about how pitiful Stiles was being, but they would both ignore it for the sake of the pack.

He had _not_ been prepared for _this._ The thing he thought he was going to have to get out of Scott by slipping his own brand of truth serum into his soda cream at lunch. (Let it be known Stiles wasn’t the most moral of people. He thought that it made him pretty badass, when most likely it just meant one day he would find his picture against the term “bad ethical practices”.)

“A while back I learned something about Derek,” Scott’s eyes cast apologetically over to Derek, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to follow the action to see if Derek even noticed, too anxious for Scott to continue.

“The thing I found out…I thought he was going to tell you and then guilt trip you into staying in Beacon Hills because of it. I know how fast you would give up on any thoughts of leaving is if someone gave you a reason to.” Stiles thought back to their conversation on the phone earlier, but remained silent. It was usually best to wait Scott out when he was trying to explain something.

“I didn’t realise he had never planned on telling you. That he wasn’t going to play with your chances at a normal life outside the pack.”

Anger rose up again in Stiles at the insinuation, ready to interject, but Scott held up his hand, silencing him before he could speak.

“I want to make it clear, I never want you to leave the pack, Stiles. The selfish parts of me always want you by my side, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t selfish.” Stiles chewed on his lip, torn between hugging Scott and slapping him, but settled for nodding his understanding instead.

What he didn’t comprehend was what this had to do with Derek. Was Derek here to convince Stiles to leave anyway? To do what Scott couldn’t articulate? Scott may have been better at rallying people than Derek, but Derek still held the most points in convincing other’s to do what he thought was best for them. The thought made him deflate even further, because leaving the pack wasn’t what was best for him. Leaving Derek wasn’t what was best for him- even though he knew there was some part of him that should be at least _trying_ to convince him otherwise. The idea consumed him, leaving him confused. No-one was pushing him out of the pack and yet the thought of being apart from Der- them- consumed Stiles, tugging at something in him like a vital organ would collapse if he thought too much about it.

“Fuck,” Stiles heard as he steadily focused on breathing, but it was only after a moment he realised the word had come from Derek and not Scott.

Against his better judgement, Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek who was staring back at him in an entirely different way than he had ever done. It wasn’t quite the looks he had given him as a wolf, there was an underlying sadness to them that distinguished it from those looks, but it was close. So close that it made Stiles want to ask if Derek would cuddle with him on the bed like they had done every night- oh, who was he kidding, every _day-_ this past week.

“I can’t tell him,” Derek said, looking back to Scott. His voice was shaky, but even as he said it, even as Stiles thought this was the part where Derek realised he couldn’t be the one to push Stiles out of the pack after all, the part where Derek left and didn’t look back, there was something in Derek’s voice that told Stiles he was scared of something.

It was that something evidently that made Derek sit on the bed beside Stiles and instead of leaving, Derek reached across the small remaining gap between them and took both of Stiles’ hands in both of his.

He held them tentatively, like he was about to be pushed away, afraid he wasn’t welcome- and he wasn’t okay? He fucking wasn’t- but it felt so good and Stiles squeezed back. He couldn’t help it.

Stiles didn’t have a clue what Scott had told Derek on the way here, but suddenly there was a light of realisation flitting across Derek’s features. It looked as though someone had slapped it on to him, like he was finally understanding something. Stiles desperately wanted to know what it was, what bad news they were preparing to tell him here, but all he could think about was how Derek’s fingers felt laced through his and how much it was going to hurt when Derek took that comfort away.

“Scott,” Derek breathed, his chest heaving as if struggling for breath. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

“I’m positive, Derek.”

Stiles was extremely confused now, but something in the back of his mind triggered regardless and the words were out of his mouth before he knew he was saying them.

“Has this got to do with that night Derek and Kira got kidnapped?” he asked. Derek’s grip tightened a little and- much to Stiles’ discomfort- it didn’t relax. His whole body had gone rigid and when Stiles dared to steal a glance at his face, it was as though it was made of marble. Stone still, frozen by Medusa. (Stiles wasn’t going to put that past the realm of possibilities here.)

“Yes,” Scott replied. “I found out something that night and I got angry. I shouldn’t have. I should have tried to understand but I didn’t know what it was. I had never felt it myself. I still haven’t. I…” he sighed. “Derek, tell him. If he rejects it, I promise I’ll help you through it. As your Alpha…as your…” he shut his eyes tight, the next word barely a whisper, but Stiles heard it nonetheless. “…brother.”

Derek took a few minutes to let that sink in, half turning to Scott but not quite able to force his eyes to make the journey from where they had been fixed on his and Stiles’ interlocking hands.

“Okay,” he said, eventually. “Okay, I can do this.” He took a deep breath and slowly, oh so slowly, let his eyes creep up Stiles’ body and face, settling fixedly on his eyes, complicated green boring into whatever shade of brown Stiles’ eyes were in the dimmed light right now.

“Stiles, I love you.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, mouth glued shut. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t react because he was pretty sure he had just imagined that. Derek had not just said that.

Finally, he looked up to Scott.

“His heart beat was steady,” Scott said, a small smile playing about his face.

Stiles nodded slowly, feeling his stomach drop like he was on one of those rides that lifted you high into the air and then dropped you when you reached 50ft. Suddenly, he was hot all over and he wanted to move, move forward, do something, but Derek pulled back, his face still solemn like what he had just said wasn’t good news at all, but the worst kind, as if he had just told Stiles someone had just died.

“That’s not all,” Derek said. “That’s not why Scott was angry. He didn’t know that’s how I felt.”

“Okay…” Stiles drawled out. He was on the verge of feeling happy, it was right there; he could practically taste the smile dying to burst on to his face, but the look on Derek’s face clamped it down.

“There’s this thing called a mate-bond,” Derek said, looking over Stiles’ shoulder. “It happens to all werewolves.” He took a breath. “Every wolf has a mate. When a werewolf encounters his or her mate their wolf his drawn to them.” He looked at Stiles then and Stiles felt his heart begin to beat faster.

“There is no mistaking it,” Derek went on like he was describing some everyday bit of werewolf trivia to the pack. “It’s like a physical pull. What it doesn’t mean is happily ever after. Most wolves aren’t lucky enough to have their mate feel the same way about them…especially if that mate is human. So, I ignored it. I pushed my feelings down and vowed to just leave you alone. Part of that was because I didn’t want you feeling like you were tied to me. I know how you like to fix things, Stiles. You were so stubborn about fixing up my house you camped outside it.” He smiled slightly, but quickly hid it. “That was when I first knew that if I told you, you would feel compelled to stay with me out of wanting to make things right. I see you do it every day, especially with your dad and I couldn’t have you like that. I won’t have you like that. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He paused then, searching Stiles’ face but Stiles didn’t reply. His breathing was becoming laboured now and his mind was a whirlwind of questions and emotions he had never felt before. It was also the most Derek had ever said to him- to anyone- and he knew if he just stayed silent Derek would go on. He wanted him to go on.

“Stiles, when I say mate,” Derek closed his eyes. “It’s not some romantic soulmate thing, the kind that’s in stories. If I was lucky enough that you somehow did feel the same way, if you…loved,”- he whispered the word so softly Stiles almost didn’t catch it, - “me then it wouldn’t be a case of seeing where things went. It would be forever. If we were mated and then you realised you wanted out…it would be dangerous. Not for you,” he was quick to add. “I would never hurt you or force you to stay with me. I’d do anything to prevent that. Chains, an asylum, anything. But for me, there is every chance I would go insane. Literally. At worst…at worst I would die.” His lip trembled and Stiles reached out to steady it, running his thumb back and forth over that beautiful mouth. “ _That’s_ why I never told you. We’re both safe from that right now. It’s…hard for me, but I can manage. You can live your life the way _you_ want. Not by me.”

“Back at my house,” Stiles said, finally finding his voice after several moments of silence. It drew every last bit of Derek’s attention to him. It was overwhelming to be the sole focus of Derek Hale. But in the best way possible. “When you said you couldn’t be ‘him’…” Fuck, he had been so stupid! “You thought I loved who the witch made you into. You thought I had fallen in love with someone different than who you are.” The realisation hit him hard then and he wanted to go back and smack his self across the head. “You thought I didn’t love _you_ at all. Oh my god. Derek.”

Derek nodded, frowning slightly. “Who I was for the last ten days, Stiles…it wasn’t _not_ me. That is part of me. That me is in there somewhere, it was the result of parts of me that I don’t allow to co-exist. Parts I’ve consciously lost. _I_ come with baggage. Tons of it, Stiles and that part of me…” he sighed. “I liked it, but the only reason I was able to access it was because I was so scared because of the spell. All my inhibitions were gone and I all I wanted was you. I couldn’t help but taking comfort in you.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t the big deal Stiles knew it was.

“Like burying your nose in my crotch?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing just a little. The tips of Derek’s ears went pink. It was adorable.

“That was the humiliation part of the spell you were asking Deaton about that first day,” Derek attempted to explain. “You smell so good all the time and-”

Scott coughed, cutting him off. Stiles thought he heard him mumble something to the tune of _still here, dude,_ but that didn’t deter Derek. He went on just the same, for the first time ignoring his Alpha and Stiles clutched at his hands harder, willing him to keep speaking. Just wanting him to continue talking forever. Everything would be okay if he could just go on hearing Derek speak.

“The spell made it impossible for me not to scent you, to be near you. To show you how much I wanted you.” The redness travelled down from his ears and spread out across his cheeks in a flush. Stiles could feel the heat radiating off him, despite the fact their bodies weren’t touching.

“Let me get this clear. _You_ love me. _You,_ not just your wolf?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Derek sighed. “I hated you in the beginning, but my wolf told me you were my mate. At first, I thought that was just my luck.” Stiles refrained from slapping him across the chest, but only because Derek was smiling as he said it.

“But slowly, I started to see why my wolf had chosen you. I…I fell in love with you. Of my own accord. Your determination and loyalty to the pack. Your dry sense of humour and how smart you are…your eyes, god they’re beautiful. Like whiskey and honey.” He reached out to trace the side of Stiles’ face, letting Stiles’ eyelashes tickle his fingertips before they moved down to circle his mouth.

“This is my favourite part though,” he mouthed, presumably so Scott wouldn’t be forced to here. “I’m obsessed with it.” Stiles smiled shakily, still wondering when he was going to wake up, but when Derek’s fingers slid further down to cup the back of his neck, he knew it was real. The touch was grounding, in a way he hadn’t felt before. No, in a way he _had_ felt before. It was like his body was finally at peace with itself, sated in a way his ADHD mediation never could settle him, and that’s when he knew. That’s when he fucking realised that after all this time-

“You’re my anchor.”

“What?” Derek asked, head snapping up from where it was slightly ducked.

“You’re my anchor,” Stiles said again, more confidently this time. “You calm me, Derek. I’m less fidgety when I’m with you. My ADHD, it’s somehow…less when I’m near you.” He laughed. “I always thought it was because we were too busy shouting at each other, that I was just too occupied to be restless, but it wasn’t that at all. You…you fix me.”

He thought back to every time he remembered Derek being near him, how his body had settled down. All this time he had figured it was because Derek made him tense. Made him so tense he became still. But it wasn’t. Derek just anchored him. Weighed him down until he could feel himself breathe.

“Derek,” he leaned forward. He needed to make him understand this. This wasn’t going to get lost in more misunderstandings. “I love you. I don’t know when it happened, I don’t know how, but I do. I know the ways I love you and it’s all to do with _you_. Not some made up version of you in my head.” He brought Derek’s hands up to his chest.

“My dad’s a cop, I was brought up on logic and reason and because of that I know I should tell you right now that I need time to think this over, that I need to be sure this is what I want, that I need to be sensible about this.”

Derek’s face fell, but he didn’t pull away. Stiles knew he was prepared for whatever he was about to tell him. Prepared to get up and leave if Stiles asked him to. It was that thought alone that that made Stiles pull him close, until his arms were wrapped around Derek’s neck; their eyes so close that Scott seemed to disappear from the room.

“Sometimes I just know things. It’s weird, there’s no reason or logic involved but I just _know_. It feels like a spark going off more than a lightbulb and yeah, maybe it’s always just a feeling, but I’m always right. I know how to link two things in a case that no-one would think to connect. I know where to look for an answer when I have an infinite amount of information. I know what I need to find. I know what I _need_ and it’s that same thing that makes me sure of what I know now. That this. Us. Derek, we’re right. I love you and if you walk away from this, if you push me away, _I’ll_ go insane. I’ll crumble, Derek. All the pieces from day one, from that first day in the Preserve, fit together. They’ve been slotting into my head for the past ten days now. Maybe even before and we fit. Even though we shouldn’t. Derek, I want this. I want to be there to watch us work on this.”

The smile that broke across Derek’s face was almost unreal. It was surprised at first, hesitant, but when it finished growing, Stiles had never seen a smile so bright- (shut up, he’s allowed to be mushy right now)- and it warmed every cell in his body, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

It was like an electric current was flowing from Derek and into him and Stiles just needed to be closer. He wanted to be impossibly closer, but instead of kissing Derek like he thought he would, he just leaned forward, pressing more tightly against him, burying his face in the crook of Derek’s neck and breathed in. Scenting him.

A small whine escaped the back of Derek’s throat in response and Stiles smiled.

When he finally managed to look up, placing a brief kiss to Derek’s neck, he turned to look at Scott, but he was already gone.

“Is the loft empty?” Stiles asked, turning back to Derek. He felt magnetised and he never wanted it go away.

“Isaac’s probably-” Derek started to answer, but as if it was a movie and not the real world, something vibrated in Derek’s jeans pocket.

Derek pulled out his phone and rolled his eyes as he scanned the screen, handing it over to Stiles once he had finished. Stiles didn’t look at first, sappily mesmerised at how happy Derek looked right at that moment. He was practically glowing.

Eventually, Stiles managed to drag his eyes away from Derek’s face and down to look at the screen.

_Movie theatre is playing all the Batman movies. It doesn’t finish until early tomorrow morning. I’m taking Isaac. You can thank me later- S._

Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to care about how he and Scott had made plans to go to the Batman marathon for little over a month now. They had cleaned out their sleeping bags and everything.

In fact, when he looked back up to Derek’s face, whose smile still hadn’t vanished- he was never going to get used to that- he completely forgot what the text had said at all.

***

Stiles’ jeep was parked outside Scott’s house when they ventured downstairs. His own window had been rolled down and inside, lying on the seat, was Stiles’ keys; a note on top of them that just read _Eyes on the road._ When Stiles leaned in and picked them up, another note was stuck to the bottom of them.

_I mean it, Stiles._

Stiles rolled his eyes because Scott obviously didn’t realise how hard it was going to be driving with Derek in the passenger seat. Derek who wasn’t dying, Derek who didn’t need him on some supernatural related matter which required his jeep because it was “expendable”- which Stiles was now thinking wasn’t the reasoning behind using his precious jeep at all.

No, Derek was going to be sitting there because he loved Stiles. Well, more like they both wanted to get to the same place and we perfectly happy to be in each other’s company to get there for once, but the sentiment was still real enough. Derek Hale loved him, wanted to be with him. _Wanted_ to sit beside him. Stiles could even take him parking! The thought of making out with Derek in the back seat of his jeep- or the Camaro for that matter, had his mind racing with possibilities. He had a boyfriend to go parking with! Screw his aversion to cheesy romantic comedies, it would be worth it just to see the put upon look on Derek’s face.

The thought had him trembling slightly. He had kissed people before- not many, but he knew how it went- and there had been that one night where he had gotten drunk at a party and came out as bi to Danny who had taken pity on him and given him his first proper no girl’s allowed make-out session. (Although he was pretty sure a lot of girls- see: Erica- had been watching.)

But this was new to him. This was different in a million different ways, his heart beat thudding excitedly until Derek came to stand behind him, and began nuzzling behind Stiles’ ear, making him shudder.

“Scott’s right,” Derek said, peering over his shoulder. “I should drive.”

Stiles huffed, spinning around, pleased when he found himself in Derek’s arms. It was just like every other time they prepared to fight, except this was much better because Stiles realised that no matter how intense the screaming got from now on, when they finished, Stiles would be able to kiss Derek at the end of it, rather than just storming off and being left to stew in his rage.

His mind suddenly lit up with thoughts “angry sex” and “makeup sex” and yeah, okay, so maybe he wasn’t in any fit state to drive after all if his brain kept supplying those images, but that didn’t stop him from holding the keys out of Derek’s reach anyway. He enjoyed being an asshole.

“What makes you think _you’re_ in any fit state to drive?” he demanded to know. Derek narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side as if thinking about it before smirking and taking the chance to grab the keys from Stiles’ grasp when he- very, very unfairly- licked his lips and distracted Stiles from just about everything else in the world.

“I managed to supress my lust for you for three years. I think I can manage another ten minutes,” he said.

Stiles was totally prepared to be offended about that before Derek’s words caught up with him.

“Did you just say ‘my lust for you’?” he teased, unable to keep the mocking tone out of his voice.

“Shut up”, Derek growled in response which made Stiles grin.

“You know, after having you in my bed for the better part of two weeks I no longer feel intimidated by your threats.”

“You never were,” Derek said, opening the car door and sliding into the driver’s seat. It was obvious he was trying to make it sound like Stiles not being scared of him annoyed him, but failed drastically in the small twitch of his lips.

“Hey,” Stiles said, a thought coming to him as he walked around and climbed into the passenger seat. “Does this mean that all this time of pushing me into walls was because you _liked_ it?”

Stiles couldn’t contain his glee at the way Derek ducked his head, avoiding his gaze.

“ _Stiles,_ ” he gritted out.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “And all this time I just thought you wanted to kill me!”

“I do,” Derek snarked, kicking the engine into gear. “I constantly fantasise about choking you.” He smirked then and Stiles spluttered. Actually _spluttered_ , like unattractively, because there was no way Derek hadn’t been implying what Stiles thought he was implying.

“We, uh…we could do that,” Stiles said, a wash of arousal spilling over him. It felt hot all of a sudden. Way too hot. Derek rolled his eyes, most likely smelling Stiles’ reaction, but not without reaching over and briefly cupping Stiles’ dick through his jeans, pupils dilated.

Stiles squeaked, hands flailing to push Derek’s away.

“Bastard,” he whispered and Derek laughed. A real to god honest laugh and it was the best thing Stiles had ever heard. He wanted to find ways to hear that sound all day long. He was picturing spreadsheets of ideas. He would call it _Hale’s Laughing Castle_ because he was awesome like that.

Taking a breath, he focused on looking out of the window instead. The passenger side window. He had never sat in his own passenger seat before. It felt odd to be in it and if he was being totally honest, it was rather perturbing. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and his leg started bouncing restlessly, but Derek immediately stilled it with one of his own hands. The effect was instant and his whole body went limp.

“I never knew the anchor thing applied to restlessness,” Stiles said, breathing out a sigh of contentment. It was nice to just feel. So. Still.

“It doesn’t,” Derek replied. “Your anchor is only something you seek when you feel like you’re losing control. What you’re feeling is the effects of the mate bond.” He smiled, looking from Stiles to the road and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like _fuck, I actually get this._ It made Stiles’ heart swell.

Stiles being Stiles, however, wasn’t one just to accept the first answer given to him.

“Don’t we have to, you know, mate before any werewolf magic starts happening between us?” he questioned. He made a mental note to find some old books on werewolf mating tomorrow. The internet was most likely just going to be filled with _Twilight_ fanfiction on the topic and Stiles did not fancy sifting through _that._

Derek’s eyes brows receded into his hairline.

“Werewolf magic?” he deadpanned.

“You know, feeling each other’s emotions more strongly, sensing when the other is in danger, anchoring one another even when we’re not in danger.” Derek shook his head and glanced at him like he had grown a third eye.

“I hate to break it to you, but there are no spidey senses attached to a mate bond.”

“Oh,” Stiles’ face fell, feeling vaguely disappointed.

They had come to a stop and when Stiles looked up, he realised they were already outside the loft.

Derek had turned in his seat to face him and reaching over, cupped Stiles’ face in one of those big, strong hands.

“You are my anchor though,” he whispered, leaning in slightly.

“I am?” Stiles asked, heart brightening.

Derek nodded.

“The day Kate came back,” he started, frowning. “When she took me,” he tried again.

Stiles shuddered at the memory, anger flaring up inside him, unable to help conjuring up her angular face.

Derek smiled sweetly, but a little like he had just swallowed a particularly bitter pill.

“I tried to ground myself,” he went on. “I was trying to get angry. That’s what’s always worked for me since the fire. Instead, I found you. We were in the locker room. It was sunny. You were standing at first but after a minute you came to sit across from me. I was asking you how to tell me how to know if someone was dreaming. You were so close by that point and I was so scared, but all I remember thinking was _thank god he’s here._ ” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Stupid, I know, but it’s the first time I realised you were more than my mate. The first time I realised how much I looked up to you.”

Stiles forgot to breathe for a moment- all breath just freezing because. _Because._ When he did finally manage to inhale he was met by a particularly long exhale of Derek’s. He breathed him in then, relishing a sweetness there he had never been close enough to notice before.

“’s not stupid,” he whispered, closing the remaining space between them. Derek’s cheek brushed his, nuzzling it slightly before he lowered his lips to graze along Stiles’ jaw line. Stiles wondered just how long it had been since Derek had been able to freely “nuzzle”. He clearly enjoyed it; it was part of his born werewolf make-up, but somehow Stiles thought Derek liked contact a little more than even by werewolf standards.

“Not yet,” Derek whispered, one arm tugging Stiles into his lap as Stiles tried to obtain access to Derek’s mouth. He did his best version of an Allison pout, which he either pulled off scarily well, or Derek just didn’t notice because when he found Derek’s eyes there was only reverence there. No-one had ever looked at Stiles with _reverence_ before.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in your jeep,” he eventually said.

“My jeep is all kinds of romantic,” Stiles retorted, levelling Derek with his best glare. “I’ll have you know she has been anxiously waiting for the day to see some action for a long time now.”

Derek rolled his eyes, leaning up to kiss Stiles’ nose rather than making an argument out of it.

“I don’t know what you were talking about earlier,” Stiles laughed. “You’re still just an adorable puppy secretly, aren’t you?”

“Only around you it seems,” Derek said, sounding a little confused, like he couldn't understand the confession himself.

“I like that you can be yourself around me,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s shoulders. “I like all of you, puppy _and_ sourwolf.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

“No you don’t,” Stiles called his bluff, rewarded by a slight blush across Derek’s cheeks. Stiles was going to have so much fun finding out what else made him do that.

“Come on,” he said, opening the door and pulling them both out. “Let’s make love!”

Derek groaned, running a hand down the front of his face.

“I take it all back,” he said, kicking the car door shut behind him and folding his arms in true Derek Hale fashion. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too bad,” Stiles called over his shoulder as he made his way towards the stairs that led up to Derek’s loft. “I guess I’ll just have to jerk off on your bed by myself then.”

Derek was pressed up against his back with werewolf speed before Stiles was on the third step, lifting him up and throwing him over his shoulder, running the rest of the way to the loft.

(Stiles would totally find the time to complain about the manhandling later.)

***

Stiles didn’t know what he was expecting when he finally got to sit down on Derek’s bed for the first time. Perhaps being pushed down and ravished like some sort of virgin maiden in a harlequin novel, his clothes ripped from him and Derek just growling and taking like the devilish rogue he was. (Oh yeah, Stiles had had _that_ fantasy before.)

What he hadn’t expected was the tentative way Derek led him over to the bed and gently sat him down, clambering on top of him like a child. It should have been awkward, given how muscled Derek was, how much more room he took up than Stiles, but it wasn’t. It was sweet and endearing and all those other things Stiles had never seen before in Derek.

Derek was breathing heavily by the time he settled completely on top of him, eyes roaming across Stiles’ face like he didn’t know which part he liked looking at best.

Finally, they fixed on his mouth.

All traces of playfulness and smugness from before were gone. This Derek looked bare and vulnerable and Stiles just wanted to wrap him up in his arms and tell him it was okay. That he would never hurt him.

It suddenly hit him then how big a deal of this must be for Derek. Despite his bravado, every relationship Derek had ever had had left him burned and weak. A little worse than before. A little less trusting. Stiles hated that he didn’t have to remind himself of that; that it was written in Derek’s every move how those people he thought he loved had let him down, abused him.

Stiles tried not to think about Kate, to what extent she humiliated Derek. He wondered if Derek had nightmares at night, if he woke up in a cold sweat. Stiles wanted to be there for that if he did, to soothe it all away. It felt a little like relief, knowing _he_ could be that person who finally helped Derek. To replace the bad with good.

“Derek,” he whispered, pulling back a little to look at his face. “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to.”

Derek swallowed but shook his head. “I want to. I…I trust you.” Stiles smiled. The weight of those words struck him with a force greater than all the “I love you’s” out there.

Taking Derek’s hand, he brought it up to settle over his heart.

“I will never hurt you,” he said, wanting- needing- Derek to hear his steady heartbeat. He knew Derek wouldn’t be here now if he thought Stiles would hurt him- he’d been through too much for that- but it was like Derek hadn’t realised just how much he knew Stiles wouldn’t hurt him because, suddenly, he looked broken. Face crumbling slightly in that way it always did when something reminded him of his past.

“I love you so much,” Stiles went on when Derek’s eyes began to fill with tears. “So, so much. It might have taken me three years to finally realise I was falling in that direction, but I’m here now.” He was aware he was being extremely mushy, like those films Lydia made him watch and he made a big show of gagging at. But it didn’t feel pathetic or “girly” with Derek. It felt right to be saying these things. Necessary. (To hell with stereotyping!)

Slowly, in case Derek had other plans for how he wanted this to go, Stiles lifted his head up until his mouth was skimming Derek’s. He lingered there, breathing lightly and letting his tongue slip out now and again to graze his lips, a small moan escaping him at the slightly rough texture he found there. Texture he wanted to moisten, soften.

When Derek opened his mouth, inviting him in, Stiles wasted no time in sealing his mouth over Derek’s, tasting him and teasing at his bottom lip, eliciting a groan from the werewolf. When his tongue finally slipped inside, Stiles thought he was going to combust on the spot. He never knew kissing someone, just kissing them, could feel so intense. He felt like he was already coming undone, like he was high.

“Derek,” he breathed and Derek nodded in response, reaching for the hem of his shirt and breaking the kiss to pull it off.

Stiles had seen Derek’s abs before, but now he could actually touch them, well, the thought was just too much to resist. He let his hands roam freely over those tanned planes, massaging every other inch until Derek started tugging at Stiles’ shirt.

“Your turn,” he said.

Stiles lifted up his arms and let Derek take it off, shivering at the sting of cold air that hit his skin before Derek pushed him back down onto the bed and started kissing his way up his neck, chest flush against him as his mouth moved to suck a mark just behind Stiles’ ear.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Derek said, hands trailing down, stopping to knead at Stiles’ hipbones, maybe assuring himself Stiles was still there, before popping the button on his jeans.

The look Derek gave him turned momentarily predatory as he shuffled down the length of Stiles’ body, pulling his jeans and boxers off as he did.

Stiles had been naked in front of Derek three times now, but it still didn’t stop him from trying to cover up when Derek proceeded to just stare at him.

“Don’t,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles’ hands and moving over him to pin them above his head. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.” Stiles huffed a breath and rolled his eyes, trying to laugh the comment off because, no, no he was not.

“I’ve got my own charms,” he said, forcing a smile. “I mean, I snagged you, right? But you don’t need to say that. I know I’m not…you know.” He shrugged. “Although I’m pretty sure being friends with a bunch of werewolves has done nothing for my body issues.” He winked, preferring the safer territory of deflection. “Thanks for that.”

“Stiles,” Derek’s eyes went wide. “You seriously have no idea, do you? I thought you would have known for sure when you caught me looking at you in the shower.” He shook his head, smiling with his teeth and Stiles’ dick jumped.

“K-known what?” Stiles stuttered when Derek shifted to turn him on to his stomach. There was a brief moment of no contact, but then Derek was back on top of him, fully naked and hard and Stiles had to bite his lip to stop from making a truly embarrassing sound.

“That I can’t wait to explore every inch of you,” Derek murmured into his skin and woah, okay, Stiles had never pegged Derek for a dirty talker- if you could even call statements like that dirty, Stiles was sure it was more akin to a sweet nothing- but it was working for him either way.

“This is definitely the bit I like the most,” he whispered, moving down again until his lips were ghosting Stiles’ lower back. “Right here.” Derek’s tongue slid out, making Stiles quiver as he traced over a particularly embarrassing set of moles that dotted right the way across the top of his ass.

Stiles felt a flush of humiliation course through him, remembering the way he used to be teased in the locker room for them, but the way Derek hummed into his skin appreciatively made him smile despite himself.

“You make me crazy,” Derek said, proving he was more of a sweet talker than a dirty one- Stiles didn’t mind though, he could be the dirty yin to Derek’s sweet yang- practically kitten licking his way back down Stiles’ body, nibbling at his ass and then sucking a mark on his inner thigh as he spread Stiles’ legs open so he could settle between them.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped into the pillow, reaching behind him to try and get Derek’s mouth back up to his. “Derek, I want-” but Derek was already there, turning Stiles’ over and hovering above him, just looking down and taking him in before leaning forward and capturing his mouth in a biting kiss.

They both moaned into it and Stiles’ legs fell open of their own accord, wanting Derek even closer.

“Please,” he begged. “I’ve never…but I want…please.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, fingers digging in to Stiles’ upper arms. His whole body seemed prepared to pull away at the slightest word from Stiles, like rejection was something he was expecting, even now, like he was just waiting for Stiles to yell “surprise” and leave him alone and humiliated. Just like Kate.

“Full consent here,” he said, leaning up to bite Derek’s lip in a way he hoped was sexy and not like an awkward, teething cub. “Very eager, willing consent. Like, you wouldn’t believe.”

Derek nodded once, a small, private smile appearing on his face. A smile Stiles was certain only he would ever get to see. He cherished it, committing it to memory and grasping the back of Derek’s neck, pulled him down to kiss the corner of it just as Derek’s fingers slid down and began tracing Stiles’ hole.

Stiles grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting his hips to place it under him. He had done this himself enough times to know it worked better with a little elevation. (Watched enough porn too.)

“That shouldn’t have been as sexy as it looked,” Derek whispered, eyes crinkling. Stiles grinned.

“Do you have lube?” he asked.

Derek nodded, reaching over to the small table that sat beside the bed, giving Stiles a good window of opportunity to tease at one of Derek’s nipples with the tip of his tongue. Derek let out a sound caught between a whine and a growl, stilling instantly.

“You sensitive there?” Stiles asked, doing it again, pre-come dripping on to his stomach when Derek’s eyes turned electric blue when he bit down gently on the hardening nub.

“You need to stop,” Derek panted, “or I’ll-“ he cut himself off, pulling back to flick open the cap on the bottle of lube.

“Or you’ll come?” Stiles finished for him. Leaning up on his elbows, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you think I could make you come just by…” he reached out, scratching over Derek’s left nipple and making him hiss. “I think I could, Derek.” Derek raised an eyebrow, presumably as a challenge, but the intended effect was lost on how utterly wrecked he looked when Stiles sat up to close his mouth over Derek’s right nipple.

“Not if you keep making that face,” he retorted when Stiles wiggled his eyebrows again. Stiles feigned offence.

“That was my sexiest come hither face,” he lied. “We were doomed from the start!” He flopped dramatically back down on to the bed and flung an arm across his eyes, sighing.

“Drama queen,” Derek whispered, grabbing Stiles by the hips and pulling him half way down the bed, pushing at Stiles’ legs until his knees were pressed up against his chest.

He felt more exposed like this, but instead of wanting to hide, felt a surge of excitement rush through him. This was really happening.

Derek coated one finger with (the half empty) bottle of lube and Stiles seriously had to avoid thinking about Derek using it on himself. The image alone nearly had him blowing his load. Screwing up his eyes, in what was probably the most unattractive expression ever, he tried to think about that paper he once wrote on the history of the male circumcision, but when Derek’s nose pressed up against his hole instead of the finger he had been expecting, breathing in heavily and fucking _moaning,_ Stiles couldn’t even remember his own name, never mind some paper.

“You smell so good here,” Derek said, sounding almost high. Stiles refrained from pointing out how weird that statement probably was, not wanting to upset his mate’s werewolf kinks. _His mate,_ he thought happily _._ He’d put up- no, he’d fucking enjoy- any kinks Derek had knowing that, thank you very much.

When Derek’s tongue joined the party down there too, Stiles couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped him. There was a chance he sounded a bit like a dying whale, but Derek didn’t seemed to mind. In fact, it only seemed to spur him on, pressing his tongue in further until it breached the rim of muscle there and started _swirling_ like he was painting a picture. With his tongue.

Stiles had to reach up and take a hold of the pillow now above his head, just for something to squeeze. As a virgin, he knew Derek would understand if he came embarrassingly fast- hell, he wasn’t sure if that was Derek’s intentions with all the foreplay here- but he was definitely at least going to _try_ and last a little longer.

Unfortunately, the way Derek’s tongue started to thrust in and out, going deeper each time, was making it hard to hold on to that conviction.

“More,” Stiles whispered, pulling his knees in further and hoping Derek got with the programme soon. He could _feel_ Derek’s smirk as he gave Stiles a playful nip just below his balls- and oh, they were definitely experimenting with that particular spot later- before Derek sat back and came to lean over Stiles once more.

As much as he liked Derek’s face between his legs, Stiles had to admit, this view was so much better.

“Have you ever opened yourself up before?” Derek asked, lubing up the same finger as before, teasing Stiles with it.

Stiles nodded slowly, a slight whimper escaping him as Derek lowered that finger to gently probe at his hole, massaging across it, teasing, before, finally, finally, pushing in. Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut and he bit his lip hard. It was so much different than when he did it to himself. Derek’s fingers weren’t as long as his, but they were wider and he felt full, fuller than he usually did at this point.

“What do you think about when you do it?” Derek asked.

Stiles would have taken it for mindless sex talk, if it wasn’t for the genuine look of curiosity that suddenly settled on Derek’s face. Like it was something Derek really needed to know.

“Sometimes I pretend I’m prepping myself to be knotted,” Stiles admitted.

It was one of his most common fantasies. Better attempting to find out of there was any truth to knotting now, he thought, when he was blissed out and didn’t care if Derek laughed in his face, than later when it would just be awkward when they were eating dinner or something.

Derek’s whole body froze above him and, oh fuck.

“Is that, eh, a thing?” he asked, starting to wish he had just kept his mouth shut until later. Great job, Stiles. Great job.

Derek looked away when Stiles tried to catch his eye, the tips of his ears going red, the flush spreading down his face and chest.

There was a beat of silence and then, “You want that?” Derek whispered, chancing a glance back at him.

“So it _is_ a thing?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded quickly, still not looking him in the eye. “Hey,” Stiles whispered, trying to lift himself up and supressing a groan when Derek added a second finger, pushing him effectively back down, presumably to try and ignore whatever thought had just crossed his mind. They really did have a long way to go on working on Derek’s communication skills.

“Derek, what’s wrong?” He was getting concerned now.

Derek scissored his fingers, ignoring him, and Stiles swore, because _fuck_ that felt good. Extremely good, but he was not going to be deterred here.

“Derek, talk to me.”

Again he was ignored and when Stiles looked down, about to put a stop to this whole thing, he noticed Derek had softened a little. He knew this had been too fast for him.

“Derek.”

Another beat of silence.

“Kate,” Derek whispered finally. “She used to make fun of me for it.”

Stiles frowned, taking a moment to realise what Derek was talking about before it dawned on him.

“Your knot?” he asked.

Derek nodded, finally managing to lift his gaze. “She’d call me a dumb dog, stuff like that. I thought she was just really into verbal humiliation, so I would ignore it. I thought she didn’t mean it, not really. But now…I can hear her. The words are so loud sometimes.” He shrugged, moving back like he was planning to leave.

He had completely gone down now and carefully removed his fingers, allowing Stiles to sit up. Stiles could see Derek beginning to retreat into himself, but he was having none of it and flinging himself forward, scrambled on to Derek’s lap and wrapped his arms around him.

“No, you don’t get to do that now,” he said. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Stiles had no idea if what he was saying was the right thing. He never had experience with Derek’s situation. Had never read up on how to handle it, but apparently what he had said was working because Derek was suddenly looking at him again, a shaky expression on his face, but it wasn’t closed off anymore. He was letting Stiles in, letting Stiles attempt to protect him and love him in the way he needed, even though he would never ask for it out loud.

“Not many people have my respect, Derek,” Stiles said. “Respect, it’s…it’s different from loving someone. Even when you love that someone unconditionally. Like I love Scott. But you, Derek? As much as I loathe to admit it,”- he winked in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood- “you had my respect from the beginning. Sure, I kind of wanted you dead for a while and thought you were an excellent murder suspect, but mostly? You demanded my respect and that scared me. It’s why I challenged you so much. Why I still challenge you now. Mostly I just do it for fun though.”

Derek smiled at that and Stiles’ heart probably skipped about three beats because, okay, this was working. Possibly. He hoped.

“You demanded my respect then and you have it now. You’ll never lose it. You couldn’t be further from a dumb dog.” He tried, really tired not to spit in sheer outrage at that. “Not only are you not a dog, but you’re smart and strong and yeah, so you live in the dark ages where technology wasn’t a thing yet, but that’s all part of your appeal. And I’ll be here, reminding you of that every single day, even after you learn to believe it. Because you _will_ learn to, Derek. I’m too stubborn for you not to.”

(Stiles briefly wondered if Derek would kill him if he sang _Let Me Love You_ by Ne-Yo- in the name of progress, of course! - the next time Erica convinced the pack to go out to a karaoke night.)

Derek didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Nothing else needed to be said right now.

Instead he fell further into Stiles’ arms and let himself be manhandled until they were both lying on their sides.

Stiles never thought Derek would particularly like being the little spoon in bed- and maybe he didn’t- but the way he was letting Stiles wrap him up in his arms, breathing in slowly, it was enough to tell Stiles he was at least comforted by it. Stiles suspected no-one had ever held Derek before. At least not like this.

They lay like that for just under an hour maybe.

Derek had his eyes closed, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t asleep because every time Stiles moved slightly Derek’s body would follow, moulding itself to him like some kind of freaky human magnet. Not that Stiles actually found it freaky. He liked that Derek sought him out even in a semi-conscious state, liked that he seemed just that little bit clingy. He couldn’t tell if that was a Derek and him thing or a wolf thing- Stiles suspected both- but it made him feel like part of something special. Something delicate, but strong at the same time.

“Stiles?”

“Hm?” Stiles hummed, pressing his lips to Derek’s neck. It was slightly salty and Stiles opened his mouth a little further to get a better taste.

“I’m sorry I ruined your first time.”

“What?” Stiles asked, pulling back.

“I’m sorry I-”

“No, I heard you,” Stiles cut him off, leaning over to see his face. “Derek, listen. I’m just happy I’m here with you, okay? Truthfully, I always imagined my first time being at some party with someone I didn’t know in my first year of college. Well,” he snorted. “I actually imagined it with Lydia. But even in my dreams she never let me cuddle and I really like the cuddling. I mean, sex is awesome and all. But this? This means more to me.”

Derek didn’t reply, letting the words hang there as Stiles settled a little uncomfortably on top of him. For a moment, he feared he was having bad reaction to him bringing up Lydia- werewolf possessiveness and all that- but when he looked down, Stiles was surprised to see Derek was getting hard again and who was Stiles to not help a guy out?

Coating his palm in salvia- body fluids were the best sometimes- Stiles reached around and took Derek in hand.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out, groaning and arching into the touch.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Stiles whispered, moving his hand slowly up and down until Derek was once again fully hard and leaking, hips making little aborted thrusts into Stiles’ hand, until Stiles stilled him, squeezing his hip and turning his face to nuzzle into Derek’s shoulder.

“Does scenting do anything for you?” he asked curiously, running his nose along Derek’s jugular and breathing in deeply. Derek smelled of wood, like he had spent the day cutting logs for a fire in winter. It was intoxicating and Stiles couldn’t help but breathing in again as Derek breathed out shakily, answering Stiles with a small nod and a dribble of pre-come.

“So good for me,” Stiles said, swiping at the head and using the pre-come to move up and down the shaft more easily, making Derek moan.

Kissing his temple, Stiles whispered more words of praise into Derek’s skin as he briefly removed his hand and slicked himself up, before lying back down to press himself flush against Derek’s back, nudging Derek’s legs so they were closer to him and guiding his now hard cock in-between Derek’s thighs, biting down on the back of the werewolf’s neck as he wrapped a hand around him again, supressing a whimper of his own.

“I can’t believe I get to do this with you,” he said, squeezing Derek a little more tightly, enjoying the surprised sound Derek made as he did, but not speeding up his movements. He wanted to take this slowly. He wanted to take Derek apart and put him back together again. He wanted to show Derek he was worth doing that for.

Stiles always thought taking someone apart was tying them up, making them beg, reducing them to a place where they were delirious with want. Thought putting someone back together was nothing more than not abandoning them after, attending to their needs and lavishing them with loving words. But it could also be this, he realised. Having someone trust you enough to let them you see them at their most vulnerable, needing you to hold them not after but during. To put them back together while taking them apart. The thought threatened to take _Stiles_ apart.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, turning his face into the pillow, cheeks reddening. “Stiles, wait…”

Stiles knew it wasn’t so much as asking him to stop as a warning, not with the way Derek was struggling to hold himself still now, and it wasn’t another second before Stiles felt Derek’s cock swell in his hand.

“Your knot?” he asked, rolling his hips in response, feeling himself getting closer.

Derek nodded, his breath hitching, unable to answer as his knot continued to expand until Stiles’ hand couldn’t fit around it any more.

This was it, Stiles thought, gasping when Derek’s thighs clenched, pulling him further to the edge. This was where Derek needed him the most right now.

Derek tensed slightly when Stiles hooked his chin over Derek’s shoulder and looked down.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Holy cow.” Derek must have sensed the approval in his tone because he instantly relaxed, letting himself become lost as Stiles began to play with the base, stroking him in earnest now. Derek was magnificent in a way that Stiles was starting to suspect might lead to him developing a serious case of cock worshipping. The thought of Derek’s knot inside him made him jerk forward, making them both groan.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, stilling his hips just enough to regain his focus.

“No,” Derek shook his head. “Just really sensitive.” Stiles hummed appreciatively, falling back down behind Derek and started to slide into him more urgently now, making sure to catch the back of Derek’s balls as he continued to stroke him, fingers teasing his knot with the lightest of touches which made Derek curse and whimper in between whispering Stiles’ name.

He was so beautiful like that, eyes shut and mouth parted. Face flushed. God, Stiles loved seeing that flush.

“Derek,” he whispered, increasing his speed as he moved in and out of Derek’s muscular thighs, feeling his release drawing dangerously near. “I want to see you come.”

Biting down once more on Derek’s jugular as he uttered the last word was apparently all it took, because the next thing Stiles knew Derek was coming in long, hot spurts, body shaking. Just kept coming and _coming,_ calling out Stiles’ name, trying to arch further into Stiles’ hand as his body tried to seek out more of Stiles, pushing back into him, back onto him and squeezing his thighs even tighter.

Stiles’ own orgasm came somewhat as a surprise, pulled slowly out of him, his body aching with it, trembling against Derek as he muffled a shout into Derek’s back. He wanted to cry with it, it was so good. (Fuck, he was going to be _that_ guy, wasn’t he?)

They were covered in come, sticky with it, and Stiles couldn’t hear anything beyond their mixed heavy breathing, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t leaving this spot. It didn’t matter that Derek wasn’t quite in a place yet where he could leave his past behind and give himself over freely. This was enough now. This was perfect, knowing that Derek wanted to work on this. On them. That this was forever, even if always just slightly fragile. They were at the start, the start of something that would catch them both when they fell. The start of something they would always be able to come home to. Always find. The start of growing together, growing up, just growing. Growing and growing. Learning. Learning how to just _be_.

Stiles didn’t believe in fairy tales, just like Derek had learned not to. But he believed in together and he could see forever. And that was enough. That’s what was real.

“After punching Scott in the face for trying to protect my honour and keeping you from me, I think I might send him a gift basket,” Stiles said after some time.

Derek smiled, turning in his arms to face him. “I’ll buy the card.” Stiles smiled at the mere notion.

“ _Dear Scott,”_ he pretended to write, _“your best friend is awesome in the sack._ _Thanks a million, Derek._ ”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Shut up.”

The kiss that followed was the sweetest silencer in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [ tumblr!](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/)


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